The Icebox

July 4th, 2010: Standing in my room that felt as cold as a walk-in icebox with only my flop flops on…I had to choose to shower… or not shower. I think about how can there not be a heater in a hostel that is at an elevation of about 10,013 feet (3,052 meters) and how can there not be hot water? Sticking my hand through the shower curtain, every 30 or so seconds, I am hoping for a miracle…just a little one. Seeing that miracles can only happen to my sock (Holy Sock, blog post) I stand there with just, hope.

My shower is basically a pipe in the wall with cool to cold water pouring out that gives me an economical shock treatment in addition to helping me rough up my language a bit. The fridged cold water easily turns my mouth into a mouth of a sailor as I say every written word of profanity in the English language not just once but multiple times as I jog in the shower quickly rubbing my body…most parts – one part obviously can not to be found in conditions such as these.

If I commit to taking a shower tonight, exiting the shower can even be worse…feeling like a cold balding seal coming out of its hole in the arctic only to experience a clubbing by the cold air. Life offers us so many choices…some of the most easiest ones…can sometimes be the most difficult - and the most pointless to write about.