Cold Nosed.
My bedroom is cold. When the alarm goes off I wake to numb toes and a nose that stands on my face, frostbit and upset—like it’s been waiting there for me to get up. I run the shower. Step on the scale. Set some goals I’ll forget by the time my skin is dry. My hair drips on the tile floor, freezes on the commute and thaws by nine. My shirt collars stay soaked till noon.
