In the four bedroom apartment that my roommates and I occupy, my room is the smallest. This is great because I pay significantly less than everyone else. That's the only good thing about it. Mine is the only room with its own half-bathroom which would be nice if I could use it. You see, it's not possible to have a bed and have access to both the closet and the bathroom. I made a choice, and while some have criticized me for this choice I still believe it was best. Upon seeing my room and the blocked bathroom door for the first time, Najia jokingly, and not altogether incorrectly, said that my room must have been the servants' quarters.
The worst part of having a half-bedroom is the lack of heat control. Every other bedroom and the living room have their own radiator and a dial to control it. My room only has pipes going up to the apartment above us. The problem isn't the lack of heat though. I have woken up sweating every night since being back in Boston. Last night I attempted to thwart the uncontrollable pipes by cracking the window just a sliver. I went to bed comfortably cool until waking up around dawn freezing to death. I added another blanket on top of my shivering body and went back to sleep, only to wake up again sometime later hot and sweating again. Pipes: 1, Daniel: 0. Some of my roommates have complained that their radiators don't seem to respond to the turning of the dial and this may be true. At least they have some semblance of control, even if it is just a placebo effect.
I've also had a spurt of bad dreams lately. One of the first nights back I had 3 or 4 bad dreams in a row and I woke up after each. Last night was the worst. I dreamt I was back in New Braunfels during high school and had several people over to spend the night during the school week, presumably for a party. In the morning before school two of my friends were going to drive my family's cars. The girl tried to back out of the garage without opening the garage door and ran right into it. She then managed to urinate in both cars before running over Berkeley and Wigglesworth, the dog I had in high school. Wiggles died and Berkeley somehow lived after having an almost entirely severed head. The rest of the dream was spent dealing with the ramifications of all of this and trying to ruin the girl's life. It sounds absurd and amusing but I can unequivocally say that it was one of the worst dreams I have ever had.