I WAS lying in bed the other morning pondering extremes, like the winter solstice, Newcastle sporting hopes, political skulduggery, but mainly getting out of bed.
Intel coming from the tip of my nose indicated conditions outside the doona were harsh.
This was in stark contrast to reports emanating from beneath the doona, where things were pretty snug.
The overriding instruction from the brain was to remain stationary at all costs.
Or at least until the alarm went off.
But the sergeant major of the mind demanded I get up and do things, like snort, wheeze and ablute.
So emerge I did, like a mighty Apollo rocket breaking free of the earth's pull, scooping up UGG boots and a jumper en route to the bathroom.
I swear I could hear the soundtrack to 2001: A Space Odyssey in the background.
Or was that the Benny Hill theme?
As I waited for the brain to reboot I was reminded by that no-nonsense leveller of all things human, the toilet seat - it gets bloody cold this time of year.
Not as cold as places like, say, Canberra, where I'm assured by people in the know - i.e. people looking to move out of Canberra - that it's bleak.
And having watched documentary The Killing Season on ABC, about the hatchet jobs Bill Shorten, Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard did on each other, I can relate.
"Bitterly cold" - emphasis on the bitter.
At least it's bipartisan. Liberal Party power hitter Peta Credlin certainly sends a shiver up my spine.
Like the toilet seat the other morning.
It made sense things were chilly, seeing last Sunday, June 21, marked the longest night and shortest day of the year in the southern hemisphere.
The winter solstice. That kooky astronomical time of the year often overlooked, unless you're a druid, when the sun seems about as far away from the planet as I felt from the gas heater.
From here-on in the thaw will begin and shadows shorten.
Unless you're actually Bill Shorten who surely feels, if anything, shadows lengthening over his Opposition leadership.
Maybe it's got something to do with his public speaking gaffes. Or the skeletons that keep emerging from his union-leading days. Or the ghosts of Big Kev and Julia coming back to haunt him.
Chilling what people will do to each other in the name of destabilisation, I mean revenge, I mean good government.
But that's Canberra for you.
Live by the sword, die by the press leak.
It would seem some people are impervious to cold, though, and they're not all politicians.
I'm sure we've all been camping with the people I'm talking about.
You know, when the stars are shining and the breath is condensing and it's colder than eighteen hundred and froze to death.
They sit around the campfire in stubbies, thongs and T-shirt being ridiculously upbeat about everything.
Because they're genetic freaks immune to hypothermia.
You, meanwhile, shiver uncontrollably inside nine layers of long johns and beanies declining an offer from Mr Skin for another beer.
From the esky.
Moments like these you're reminded of that the difference between being cold and staying cool - that is, remaining conscious.
Knights' supporters would know the feeling - bitter, cold, hopes in hibernation.
The reception Our Town has given Our Stumbling Team since the opening four-game win streak is probably the coolest I've felt since . . . well, last year.
Right up there with the toilet seat.
If we're talking in post-winter solstice terms, the nights are getting shorter but the Knights are getting even shorter as they firm for the spoon.
On the bright side, the days are getting longer, so maybe Rick Stone and the boys can use those extra hours of light to turn things around before September.
Newcastle's sporting hopes certainly reflect jumping out of a warm bed into a cold unforgiving world.
Take new Jets' coach Scott Miller who has taken over the region's A-League football flagship.
I wish him all the best, as I did his predecessor, Phil Stubbins.
Miller says he's a winner. Miller says his assistant coach, Jean-Paul de Marigny, is a winner, and that win, lose or draw, they'll remain winners.
But I reckon that will only be true if they win. Nothing new about that.
Lose, and well ... speaking of polar ice.
When sporting hopes run cold, a bit of bandwagon jumping can warm you up.
And no one's providing more fire on ice than the Newcastle North Stars ice hockey team out at Warners Bay at the moment.
After a mid-year slump, coach Andrew Petrie is running out of superlatives to describe his goal-scoring imports who have rediscovered their mojo as the team surges into contention for yet another national league crown.
Beats beating yourself up.
Just goes to show, when you find yourself caught between hot and cold, often the best thing to do is chill.