I should probably have read the forecast more carefully. I expected a snowstorm this afternoon, so I planned to drive back to Boston in the morning. Thus, I was alarmed to see the snow already starting to fall as I ate my Cheerios. I gathered my stuff, jumped in my car, and drove off as soon as possible, hoping to get ahead of the storm front.
Instead, I wound up just behind it the whole way, trapped in horrid traffic bogged down by the snow. There was maybe a centimeter on the ground when I arrived.
Now I’m typing in my apartment while wearing a hat and gloves. The analog-dial thermostat says the temperature is 58 F, which seems a bit optimistic, but the temperature control is set to 70. That seems like a pretty good hint as to why the place is so cold.