Ice Station Iowa City

It is FUCKING COLD here in Iowa. As I write this, the wind chill is 11 degrees. Of course, it is December, so I probably shouldn't be belly-aching. I can't remember how long it took to get this cold last year.

I ran out of coffee in my apartment yesterday, so had to leave the warm, cozy confines of my cinder block cell this morning for some much-needed wake up juice. I knew it was windy outside - my windows had been rattling all night - and I knew it would be cold because of the weather forecast, but when that wind hit my face and the gap of skin between my gloves and the end my sleeves, it felt like I was being gouged with needles. I almost turned around to go back inside, but the prospects of a caffeine withdrawal headache was enough to keep me going to my car. The display on a nearby bank said it was -15 degrees. Christ, I almost dipped my fingers into that hot coffee once I got it. Waiting for the bus a couple hours later was not fun. (Some dumb-ass wasn't even covering his head. I fully expected to see his ears fall off. Then I would've picked one up and yelled "What's the matter with you?" into it.) I should've driven, since all I had to do was drop off one of my final portfolios on campus. I'm sure I could've found a parking space so early in the day.

The Weather Channel says it could be in the mid-40s by Wednesday. Are you kidding me? Midwest weather, baby - ain't nothin' like it. Has 45 degrees ever sounded so warm?