The house is warm, I think, as I climb the stairs. I push open my door and dump my bag onto the ground. I breathe and momentarily I am distracted. Put away clothes. Check email. Check phone. Drink water. Check plants. Water plants.

Oh time to take shower.

As I change into my robe, the furnace roars on and the warm air rushes out. I step into the bathroom across the cool tile and shower.

I know how it will be like and prepare myself when I re-enter my room. It’s certainly warm and my body has absorbed the heat from the shower. I push the buttons on my air purifier. Within minutes, the air is cooler and in my mind, I believe that the air is magically cleaner.

I put away my clothes. Then I hear the steps move across the hallway. Then back. The door closes and it’s the time. I open my door and tiptoe to the control panel. SEVENTY DEGREES. A post-it nearby says “65 DEGREES PLEASE. IT SAVES ENERGY.” No matter, I toggle the programs to check which program is running. The thermostat is set to 65 degrees, but the apartment is set at 70. I push the button around now it won’t turn unless the temperature drops to 60 degrees.

I feel a rise inside me as I think about the rising power costs.

No matter at all. Last Friday, I was scolded for people who can’t live 60 degrees or below because they will suffer. We won’t suffer, I guarantee it. We’re all young and healthy. You didn’t show me your blue hands. So you don’t have it. But just say so.