It’s cold outside. Really cold. And it’s only going to get worse from here on out. AND, I’m half referring to the outside weather, and mostly referring to the INSIDE temperature of my home.

As many of you faithful Dispatch readers know by now, I moved out and away from the family nest a few months back and into my own little humble abode with the infamous roommate. Things have been going swimmingly, all is well, and, ultimately, excluding the whole parking situation that we endure, I’m extremely pleased with our home.

What the roommate and I have learned, however, is that due to the location and age of our apartment building, we either get theyou-know-what end of the stick, or are lovin’ life when it comes to the temperature.

During the summer and early fall months, the temperature in our home was cool, comfortable, pleasant, ideal even. Yet now that winter is around the corner, I’m afraid we’ve take a turn for the worse.

Alas, the roommate and I have been engaging in a rousing game of Russian Roulette. It’s truly invigorating and we suggest that you all try it.

It goes something like this: while we’ve found it difficult to figure out the inner workings of our thermostat, we have determined that one of us will turn the heat up and up only to find that our windows are sending it out and out.

It’s been a true struggle trying to decide which rooms get elected to have the heat turned up, what the proper amount of heat ultimately is for both the daytime and hours, and, which of us will have our wallet shot to pieces once the bill comes.

Yay! WHAT FUN!

We come home from work everyday to the realization that the outside temperature may in fact be higher than the inside temperature of our apartment. You walk in and are automatically greeted with the sort of cold that takes your breathe away.

Ahhh, home sweet home.

Getting out of bed in the morning, now that’s an adventure. You know that moment when you first start to stir in the morning and you aren’t quite awake yet, but sunlight is demanding your attention?

When the knowledge and need of having to get up and out of bed to start the day doesn’t quite win out against the desire to stay underneath warm blankets?

Yeah, I know that feeling. I CHERISH that feeling. And then, I am punched in the gut as soon as I pull the blankets off of myself because I am living in an ICE BOX.

Walking on hardwood floors sans socks or shoes is what I’ve come to discover most resembles walking on glass barefoot. It’s become a ritual to wear about four layers of clothing, plus three pairs of sock, PLUS slippers and/or BOOTS just to retain some body heat. And I won’t even get into what it’s like to go to the bathroom. Some parts of your body just aren’t meant to be frost bitten, people.

Oh, what’s that? I look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man? A burglar wearing a face mask and gloves? I HAVE NO CHOICE! It’s cold!

There is no winning at this heating game!

I hope my mother is ready for me to jump back into the nest and move back in. Just for the winter. A sort of hibernation if you will. I’m missing the comfort of warmth and t hat old feeling of not dreading the heating bill.

It will give me and my wallet a rest and, since money grows on trees, a fact my mother has stated repeatedly throughout my lifetime, she won’t mind me fiddling with the thermostat to make the house nice and toasty. Maybe a SAUNA at this point.

I’m 99.9% sure that, due to our heating bill and these oh so fiscal of times, a box this time next year may be my residence. I’m also pretty sure that we ticked off Mother Nature since she is out with a vengeance and really laying into us with her wrath. Gotta love us feisty girls.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but a few weeks ago it was nearly 60 degrees out and now, NOW we have frost on our windshields in the morning, snow squalls in the afternoon, and brutal, horribly cold wind chills at night.

Do any of you fellas out there want to send Momma Nature flowers? Can we make peace? PLEASE?!

All the roommate and I have left to do is beg for spare change on the corner, put shrink wrap on our windows, and hope for the best. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go shopping and purchase a few parkas…

Haley Taffera’s column appears every other week in this space. Watch for her again in two weeks, provided her fingers aren’t frost bitten.

About the Author

Haley Taffera covers for the Times Leader. Reach her at or .

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