Cold and Wet

It’s November 20, 2025. I live in an industrialized, “first world” nation, in a state that considers itself to be caring and compassionate.

Colorado, the first state to legalize marijuana, was responsible for opening the doors of compassionate care to generations to come. I grew up on slogans like 9Cares Colorado Shares.

It’s 42° right now. It’s supposed to rain for most of the night.

Have you ever spent a night outside in the rain?

Time slows.

You feel everything much more acutely.

Every sound becomes a threat of endurance.

You hope to stay huddled. Surface area steals warmth. So, you make yourself as small as possible. Try to erase yourself.

You dissociate yourself.

There’s no sleep. Only a trapped in-between of frozen awareness, echoing and unrepenting.

You have to pee, and you’re soaked, and it’s still hours before dawn. There’s nowhere dry and nearby to relieve yourself.

Time slows more.

Your mind is consumed with managing overwhelming discomfort. Being wet has permeated into your socks, your gloves, your hat. It’s impossible to seal your paper foil “blanket.”

You remember that the person who handed you that blanket acted like that blanket was going to fix all of your problems.

Parts of you are numb.

Parts are screaming with searing cold pain.

Your nose drips. You cannot stop it. There’s no amount of wiping it that will quell it. You don’t have anything to blow your nose with, and if you did, pulling things out just gets them wet. You wipe your nose on your sleeves, gloves, anything. It just won’t stop.

Your eyes are also watering and stinging. It’s impossible to tell what kind of wet you’re dealing with.

If you get up to pee, the few dry spots left will be exposed to the rain. Your items will be unattended. It is so painful to hold it. Holding it gives you something to focus on.

Your ribs ache from hours of sustained shivering. Every muscle in your body has been tensed for hours. You have repeated bouts of muscle cramps.

You’re thirsty.

If you try to find your bottle of water you will expose yourself to the rain even more. You can’t imagine choosing more wet. You wish the thirst and having to pee would cancel out. That makes you giggle and you dribble a little bit. A harsh reminder that there is no humor here.

Somehow it’s still hours until the dawn, as fall months give way to extra hours of darkness and cold. You can’t check the time, because your phone is out of battery, and there’s nowhere to charge it. At least you hope it’s out of battery, because if not, it got wet, and that means losing a literal lifeline.

You continue to desperately try to hold it, but at this point, you’re convulsively shivering, and you lose control of your sphincter.

At least something is warm for a moment. Then the pee starts to sting the skin of your thighs. You get the rest of you wet trying to rinse it.

You can no longer sit upright, and are curled in the fetal position, as you continue to shake violently. Awareness holding on, praying for the dawn.

Those hours just before the dawn truly are the coldest.

Your bones ache. Your joints are locked and refuse to bend. Your jaw will not unclench, even when you specifically try to. You cannot work your fingers. You probably would not have been able to work your zipper if you had tried to walk to the bathroom.

Everything becomes so still, it’s just you and the sogginess, as though time stops existing and death becomes tangible, sitting with you as you greet the day.

It’ll be hours still before the chill melts. Even as the sun starts to crest on the horizon, no warmth comes from it.

You keep waiting, and death waits with you.