This is an autobiographical piece.� It was drawn whilst I was doing exactly what you see here:� Curling up over the vent with a blanket.
Ever since infancy, I have loved sitting over forced-air heating vents and letting the warmth wash over me.� It's not that I'm cold, necessarily.� It's just that it's one of those comforts unique to winter, like hot cocoa or snowball fights.
It's also addictive.� I look forward to cold weather just because I know the heater will be on.
As kids, my siblings and I had rituals revolving around the heater.� We would fight for the best vents and had quilts that we specifically used for heat gathering.� We even had a name for it.� It's embarrassing in retrospect, but in my innocence I never realized that until I tried to tell someone about it years after the fact.� We called it 'The Blow.'�
