The Humidifier

Who knew that a New York apartment in the beginning of March could be transformed into a bronchial-soothing, skin-smoothing tropical oasis by the mere addition of a humidifer . . . in addition to a select assortment of drugs of course (i.e. Nyquil, advil, Deme-something, cough drops, etc. etc.)  As long as I keep a water bottle handy and the humidifier on high, I'm able to sleep through the night sans cough.  Such a reprieve.  I don't even mind the fact that my hair, which was straight when I went to bed, is now totally curly.

Although, I'm now beginning to wonder if too much humidity might not be the best thing for everything other than me in my room.  I don't think I have a mold problem at the moment, but the thought has crossed my mind.  Especially since my windows are perma-fogged from the inside, and there is a marked moisty-linens aroma permeating the place.  Perhaps a de-germification will be on the table today.

All things considered, if perma-fog is the limit of its imperfections, I'll keep the humidifier.  In fact, I'm trying to figure out how I can sneak it into my yoga class this morning, and then Stake Women's conference which is immediately after.  It wouldn't be too awkward to pack it away in my massive canvas tote, carefully pull it out and set in on the floor next to my mat,  and then confidently weave the accompanying extension cord through the other yoga patrons to the outlet in the wall?  I've seen stranger things in this city.

I'll let you all know how it goes.