So, I think today really proves the theory that New England is in fact actually Cocytus, the ninth level of hell. I got up earlier than usual, and decided I was going to leave early so I could stop and get gas before going to class, which I've been meaning to do for a few days now. So I go out, notice 'Hmm, it's really cold out today', but think nothing of it because hey, New England in January. Of course it's going to be cold. I get to my car, put the key in the lock, find that it won't turn. Go '...Okay', and go and try the other lock. It won't turn either. I realize at this point that both the doors and the locks have frozen. In a moment of desperation, I tried the hatchback, reasoning that I could crawl over three rows of seats. The lock would turn, but trying to open it largely resulted in trying to pick the whole rear end off the ground, because it was frozen solid too.

I go back inside, wail briefly at Jo, check the thermometer (It was 8F in the sun), and finally grab a hairdryer and an extension cord. Ten minutes at the front lock accomplishes nothing, so I move to the hatchback as it seems to have the best chance. Twenty minutes later, I give up. The car is frozen shut. So I call the school to tell them I'll be late, and look at the bus schedule to find that the buses are running every two hours because it's a holiday, and the next one is in an hour. I have no money for a taxi, and out of the two people I'd feel comfortable asking for a ride from, one is in Florida and the other didn't answer their door.

So what do I do? I ride my bike there. It's a forty-five minute ride, in aforementioned 8F weather, with ground coated with ice and snow. The fastest way to my school is along one of the more dangerous roads in the city - it is curvy, hilly, narrow for a road as main as it is, people drive too fast along it, and most of it doesn't have sidewalks. Yes, I have no self-preservation instincts sometimes. No, I don't want to ever do it again.