Desperately seeking Heat

Its Monday, 8:30 and I'm eating soup (homemade of course) to keep warm. The November Nor'easter has left Brooklyn cold, and my apartment frigid. I have just called my landlord to remind them to turn up (on) the heat. They are doctors, both. Ones in family practice and the other's a pediatrician. I hope (& hear) they are better doctors than landlords, because they treat their tenants like shit. Its a shame that the adage proves true: you get what you pay for, because it used to be that living in this building, you sacrificed heat in the winter and cold water in the kitchen for a killer view and half the rent comparable to our neighborhood. Well Bin-Ladin took away the view, the rent is higher and I still don't have heat. It could be depressing to a lesser man!

An unfortunate result of the bitterness in my crappy old hovel is that I can't accurately test my blood sugars. My meter, the FreeStyle doesn't seem to react well to the cold temperature and instead of providing the necessary data it spits out an error message.