It’s silly to admit but I was 22 years old before I found out where our thermostat was hidden in our house. I think my father planned that one on person as it was actually in the linen closet. Our house always warm in the winter though, so it’s not like I ever had to go looking for it. I always accepted my bedroom was cold, it was right above the garage and kind of hanging of the house, exposed on all the three sides to the outdoors. Our house was old so I chalked it up to poor installation. One winter I came home from college and wasn’t going back. Oddly enough, my parents celebrated this by buying me a new space heater, a nice one, a wood stove looking one with a fake grate and flames that light up like a real fire. I loved this because I love our wood stove but can’t get that kind of heat in my room. I would pile on the blankets and accepted it as a way of life. I would get in the habit of turning on my heater after dinner and leaving it on before bed, but soon I got in the habit of keeping the heater on during the night and wake up late to turn it off. This infuriated my parents, and fairly so, it was an unsafe and costly habit of mine. But then, my 22 year old self finally stumbled on our thermostat, and the power was addicting. I would turn it up only on the weekends when I spent the majority of my time in my room reading or knitting. I felt like the lesser of two evils was to adjust the thermostat opposed to having my fake wood stove heating my room. The change of heat was nice though, I did appreciate being warm without the pile of blankets.