There are times when the schmancy office building in which I toil suddenly turns into a dank, cold box, something out of Dickens. No explanation, no warning just suddenly I become aware that my hands are numb, my shoulders are hunched over and I am expecting to see my breath in puffy little clouds. That’s why earlier this year I marched my self right on over to Walgreens and bought a blanket. It’s a stylish grey and white plaid made of light weight fleece, but still, it’s a blanket. I never feel like such a frumpy old cliche of a civil servant as I do when I’m wrapped up in my blankie, typing. A blanket. Dear god, take me now.