It's a planet made entirely out of ice.
Okay, not really. But it sure feels that way when the furnace decides that it doesn't want to kick in and the overnight low is going to drop to about 9 degrees Fahrenheit. MB called the landlord about an hour ago and left a message basically saying, "Uh...the heater is not responding. Could you maybe send someone to check on that tomorrow?" Not fifteen minutes later, the landlord called back to see if he should bring us a space heater for the night. Never wanting to be a bother, MB told him we'd probably be okay with all of our blankets. And he's right. But it means an early bedtime for me, since my fingers are literally going numb from cold sitting out here at the computer. Bollocks. I'm glad our landlord is such a nice guy, but for serious: It is really. fucking. cold.