I got up, used the toilet, and took a 3-minute shower. I brushed my teeth, got dressed, and made my bed. The apartment would look like it was ready to be lived in before I left for work. The Christmas lights on the tiny tree my students got for me were the color of the rainbow. A painting my great grandfather painted had a snowy scene in it of a street winding through a new England neighborhood that led to a church steeple. I looked out the window at the street below and imagined it to be like the street in the painting. I imagined snow on the ground. It was how I could be autonomous. I could turn anything into anything. There were no limits. I couldn’t afford to eat, pay my rent, or book a doctor’s appointment, and walking downtown felt like I was taking my chances with being murdered by wandering homeless without shoes skulking with waves and smiles from side streets and complimenting me on the warmth of mine. But I could afford to imagine snow falling. I could imagine just about anything at any time of day. I could almost feel the snowflakes setting down on my shoulders. You could still shut up.