Life in New England.

16 12 2007

Two other things I’d forgotten about:

It starts to get dark here at 3 o’clock in the afternoon and is pitch black by 5. Last night, in the middle of a pretty heavy yawning session, I glanced at the clock and it said 7:45. I could have sworn it was well past midnight based on how dark and quiet it was outside and how ridiculously tired I was inside. I had absolutely  no energy to fight the nap that overwhelmed me while I waited for Dennis to take a shower, and woke up a half an hour later no less tired, and absolutely unprepared to go out and be social. But we did and I spent the next three hours yawning so fiercely at a party that I nearly threw my jaw out. After one small glass of wine, my first in months actually since wine is the last thing I want to drink during Brazilian summer, I was so sleepy I couldn’t even hold conversation and was reduced to hanging around Dennis and leaning my head against him while he fought the sleep I knew he, too, must have been feeling. He’s much more capable of being socially appropriate than I am when he’s at a party; when the urge to leave a place swells up in me, even after twenty minutes, I go. He stays around and manages to talk to people and make a good impression on others. I am not that couth and I know I come off as completely tactless and a bit cold. But listen. When I can no longer speak because of the increased frequency of yawns, I really must leave. Last night, however, I had to stick around. And when it became painfully clear to Dennis that I would certainly kill him if we did not leave now, we said our goodbyes. Within minutes of arriving home, we were both sound asleep and remained so until 10:30 in the morning.

Or kind of. Because this leads me to the second thing I’d forgotten about: cold toilet seats. Good Lord. There’s no kind of discomfort in the world quite like a cold toilet seat, especially one you sit on at 4:30 in the morning your first night home during winter in two years. If I’d been sleepy when I sat down, I certainly was wide awake the moment my bare skin touched the frozen seat. Oh it was a fresh hell, it was. And so now I approach the toilet with a caution I never thought I’d have, kind of glancing at it sideways, measuring the temperature of the porcelain, and sitting on my hands for good measure.


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7 responses

16 12 2007
marissa

Welcome back to CT! I hope we run into one another at one of the many incredible eateries here in New Haven. So glad that you are drinking in the literal cold and the figurative warmth of being back in New England…
You know, I owe you a glass of wine for the gorgeous batik I won!

16 12 2007
ginacoggio

🙂 I’ll GLADLY cash in on that!!

17 12 2007
Nilsa S.

Oh dear. Cold floors. Cold toilet seats. Brrrr, winter is here, right?! Speaking of, did you get socked with snow?

17 12 2007
Susan

I am not socially appropriate when I require sleep and boldly leave when I am ready….BUT Richard is like Dennis much better at being sociable in those situations and I have to give him my “evil” eye so he knows he better get ready to say goodbye or die. Haha!
They really should make a heated toilet seat…doesn’t everything else come with batteries?

17 12 2007
ginacoggio

Ah, the snow. Well, CT already had a bit of snow when I arrived, and this most recent storm didn’t bring so much snow as it did sleet and ice. Basically all the snow that had fallen has now grown a thick crust of ice–slippery and smooth and reflecting the sun like a mirror. It’s beautiful!!

17 12 2007
Ryan

You have gone soft living in Brazil. Remember that you are a Vermonter. We don’t show weakness to the cold like that (At least we don’t let the flatlanders know that it bothers us sometimes).
Just bring a hot cup of coffee in there with you in the morning. That way you can use it to get unstuck from the seat when your backside is frozen to it.

18 12 2007
ginacoggio

Ah, advice from a fellow Vermonter. Thanks, Ryan. Maybe I’ll use Folger’s, though, because I’d never willingly pour Starbucks onto my backside.

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