Cold, colder, gear sticks freezing

I cannot remember when I have for the last time worked so diligently for five days in a row. Writing, reading and going through the source material every day. I can see why people say that if you want to get something done, you need to get away from the normal surroundings.

It also helps that I'm working on my laptop, which isn't connected to the net here; so no quickies to the net to check sites when one get's bored. The house computer - even if it is fairly new - takes the insanely long time of nearly ten minutes to start, it screws things up if you put it on stand-by and because of some glitch or another, it's virus-databases haven't been updated in nearly a month, and therefore one is not in the habit of clicking it open the very first thing in the morning. Good for working; bad for up-dating the blog, since I usually write in the evenings on the couch while I am watching TV. Of course that is not impossible now either in this marvelous time and age of memory-sticks.

Ooh, speaking of sticks. I used the car today for the first time in a week (went to the store). The car started just fine, but the gear stick had frozen. Nearly broke the damn thing, when I first tried to get it to move. After five minutes' massage-session it finally started to switch gears and after a few more moves it stopped tearing itself from the whatever that part of the car is called. Cold out there, I tell you.

Yeah. Can you tell I haven't done anything even remotely exciting? Since the temperature is still around minus twenty, I have skipped my walks in the past few days. And patted myself on the back for bringing the noisy mini-stepper with me. I have found out that by watching Live aus Berlin or Lichtspielhaus (DVD's of guess which mid-European musical group) I am capable of putting the mini-stepper to good use for an hour and a half, singing most of the time and still not feeling too tired after that. And I can still remember the time when I was absolutely dead after ten minutes... It's a shame though I can't do the same thing at home; the neighbours would go mad.

Or mabbe the old couple living next door to me are secretly fans of hard rock played on full blast and accompanied by an appreciative ministepper. Alas, but even if they were, there is no way they could cope with my singing.