I am a castrato squirrel missing his nuts before winter. I am a hipster, smoking, who has forgotten his vintage scarfs, an old person, slipping, who got Florida and Finland mixed up with the travel agent. I am a man boy, shivering, without bed and bedding.
You see, doctors and friends, in my little living deliberately experiment, a.k.a. living singly experiment a.k.a. operation obnoxious, so caught up was I in how cool my minimalism would be, how I wouldn’t even need skinny jeans and a fixed gear bicycle to get androgynous looking Brooklyn ladies, that I forgot to plan for one of the realities of New York, indeed, one of the realities of our dear planet’s habitual rotations: winter.
During the heady days when spring and summer winds filled the sails of my ego, I had forgotten that it gets cold here in la ciudad. Downright chilly. And I, in all my “everything I own must be able to be transported in one bicycle trip” pedantry, have packed only a sheet to serve as blanket and sheet, bottom and top.
This was fine during the sultry summer months, when my apartment held and trapped all the heat, much like a more organized squirrel would do with acorns and nuts. Come November, my apartment has revealed all its little holes to let heat escape and to let chilly air in, much like a vintage scarf does (fashion is just clothing with comfort sacrificed).
My usual 3 a.m. bathroom awakening has been usurped by a 2 a.m. shivering réveillé, at which point I had been sneaking into my roommate’s bed. Unfortunately, he and hisgirlfriend quickly noticed because of my extreme drooling problem. After making a peace offering out of a a good portion of my acorn stock, I now grab what ever garments closest to my little bedding mat (usually vintage scarves and bits of the box my sweet fixed gear came in) and swaddle myself in them like some overgrown Brooklyn baby.
Fortunately, spring is just around the corner, if one is inclined to ignore the more winter-y months, which I am choosing to do. My original thought was to convince a girl to share my camping mat and steal her body heat through the winter, but as being anemic is also very stylish amongst those who would be seduced by minimalism, I would need at least three or four bodies to make it worth it, rendering this strategy logistically impossible. A couple of other strategies: Take my minimalism to the survivalist level and have a steady fire going in my bedroom, fueled by secondhand clothing and old Franzia boxes. Declare sleeping as frivolous and against my principles. Sleep in a big pile of my roomates’ clothes. Steal my friend’s blankets when they invite me over to their apartments. Build a coffin-sized solar oven that will retain heat through the night time. I am a renewable energy vampire!
I could just buy a sleeping bag, but it would have to be secondhand and from the eighties, because mentally speaking, stylish=warm, and in that sense, I am oh so steamy.