Step one, layer up. I slide on leggings, then sweat pants, pull a sweatshirt over my long-sleeved shirt and pop a pair of socks on my feet. This is not preparation for a camping trip in the Himalayas or Alaska. It is, however, preparation for bed in my apartment. With high ceilings and old windows that let in Jack Frost, my apartment is expensive to heat. So far this winter, my roommates and I have turned up the heat just enough to keep the pipes from freezing — but not necessarily enough to keep four college girls warm.

Each night, after I have layered up like a Himalayan hiker, I slide into bed and sandwich myself under three blankets and two comforters. I curl my body up like a shrimp, leaving a cavity between my knees and chin. I then throw the blankets over my head, so that my body bulges like a bunch of pillows thrown in an empty bed to psyche out a high school parent.

This next step is essential. Just breathe and don’t move. By breathing into the space between my legs and face, I create my own heating system. It’s cost effective and environmentally friendly. I do this until the air under my blankets becomes thick and humid. The entire time I remain as still as possible because every shift and twitch pushes icy fingers under my sheets. During this step, while shrouded like a mummy, it’s also important not stay awake to avoid suffocation. A fun tip, however, is to apply flavored Chap Stick right before bed because when mixed with hot, humid breath, it creates a mango, peach, or pink lemonade rain forest.

So, once I have heated the cavity underneath my blankets, it’s time for some fresh air. I poke my hand through the wall of blankets by the top of my head so that a stream of Alaskan air wisps into my tropical, pink lemonade rainforest. This is ok, mainly because now it’s easier to breathe, but also because it is now so warm that the small amount of air is negligible.

At this point, it’s probably ok to change positions because I know from experience that the shrimp pose can get a little cramped. Eventually I stretch out my legs into the unexplored territory of the cold tundra. Yes, it’s cold at first, but the heat that I have already created helps to warm the extra space quickly. The biggest danger of stretching out is when my pant legs and shirts ride up, leaving skin bare. But the solution is easy. Tuck pant legs into socks and shirts into pants. At some point I poke my head out of the blankets and then fall into an incredibly warm sleep. Blissfully warm at last.

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