Check out weather.com to make yourself feel like a badass. Find the 10-day forecast for places where it’s much warmer than where you are. Like Novosibirsk, Siberia, Antarctica, and Olympus Mons when it’s on the dark side of Mars.

Cry. This will likely be your instinct anyway, upon waking up in the morning, checking your weather app, and realizing that the number you’re seeing as the high for the day is the actual temperature, not the wind chill. But try crying outside! Your tears will probably freeze before they’ve even completely left your tear ducts and slice your cornea and you won’t be able to wear contacts for a solid month or so, but it’ll be worth it. When someone asks what happened to your eyes, you can scream “I GOT STABBED BY MY TEARS.”

Buy frozen goods. Stomp your cold ass straight to your nearest co-op or grocery conglomerate, and buy a cartful of ice cream sandwiches. “It’s a hot one out there!” You should say to the cashier, who will not make eye contact with you on the chance you’re both insane and armed. If you opt for self check-out, say it real loud anyway, because you’re a unique guy or gal who does unique things. Then chuck all your purchased goods out in the yard and just fucking leave them there because it’s literally never going to be warm outside again ever ever oh god why do we do this to ourselves.

Go outside and start your car. Did it work? Yeah? Oh thank GOD, it’s a goddamn miracle. Refusing to start? Well that’s what you get for defying nature and living above the Tropic of Cancer.

Do a landscape painting. Winter can be a lovely time of year. Why not lift some of those blinds, take a good hard look at the nature right outside your window, and recreate what you see. Make sure you buy a dozen or so blank canvases, because your first few will probably inadvertently turn out to be pictures of you, wearing naught but a Tauntaun hide, brutally murdering the abominable snowman in a very poorly veiled metaphor. Don’t worry; that’s just your subconscious expressing your inner rage. After ten or so you should start producing something that marginally resembles the frozen hellscape outside.

Take your thermostat out for a walk. Get out the Red Flyer Wagon (that’s a thing we still have, right?), rip your thermostat right off the wall, real angry-like so it knows something bad’s coming, throw it in the wagon, and take it out for the chilliest stroll of its stupid plastic little life. “You like that, little buddy?” You ask Little Thermy McTemperson as your nose hairs freeze off and drift to the ground. “Feeling sufficiently cold now?” Once its thermometer hits anything below zero, drag its sorry ass back inside. “What’s the matter pal? I thought you liked the cold? Because I seem to remember setting you at 69, a positively tropical temperature. So why did my mac and cheese get cold before I even made it to the couch, huh? HUH?!” Then shut it in a kitchen cupboard for a while so it can think about what it’s done.

Bone. What? What the hell else are you gonna do?

–Katie Sisneros is, like, really cold.