Protagitron Still Has a Cold

The cold has stuck around for a second day, which means I have moved on to watching BBC miniseries while chain drinking NeoCitran. Currently, I would be watching Wives and Daughters (though North and South is obviously the money Gaskell, because Richard Armitage) except my Internet connection is being moody. So I am writing to you.

And I will write about how it is COLD AS BALLS out there. After work, I left to wait for my chariot, the Spadina streetcar, which promptly arrived whenever the fuck it wanted. It was probably only five minutes, but with the windchill it felt like an hour. The crowd of human fleshicles shuffled on, and so the car was already half-full at King and Spadina, which meant it had reached uncomfortable levels of body Tetris by Dundas. This, as any TTC rider knows, won't stop people from trying to ram their way in by sheer will and persistence. Well, not so much will as a stubborn insistence that if you get on the steps of the streetcar, your face butt-level with the last person who tried this, and refuse to move eventually a hole will open in the space-time continuum and they will have space.

Strangely enough, it even works sometime.

So I was all excited to climb over the stacked bodies at Willcocks for a sweet breath of freedom. My joy curdled, or rather froze, as the wind hit me again though. Dear God, I thought, why not leave all this for a career as a toasty and carefree Morlock?

Hopefully this post will shame me when I start complaining about the heat.