To Humidify Or Not

It’s humidifier time. Again.

In New York, unless you are lucky, the heat in your apartment comes out of clanking steam radiators that sound like a steel drum band warming up for reigonals. The heat comes on when the temperature drops below 55 degrees during the day. The law requires landlords to keep apartments at a reasonable 68 degrees, though I am not convinced that that’s the case. My apartment is hot. It’s a dry heat, like a desert or an oven. It’s the kind of heat that dries skin immediately upon contact with the air, that makes your nasal passages dry and finds you waking up gasping for breath with a parched mouth. It is dry to the point where I feel like I’m hungover on days when I’m not.

The obvious solution is a humidifier. But I don’t want to spend money on a humidifier. I don’t want to spend money on anything, really; by the middle of December, I feel like I’ve spent a million dollars for no reason and find it difficult to plop down another $40 on anything that isn’t a quiet afternoon to myself. Any attempts at purchasing items that I actually need — a humidifer, contact lens solution, Christmas presents — turns a half hour trip into an hour and ends with me leaving with something new and impractical for myself, purchased out of stress. The risk of trying to buy one and walking out with something entirely different now feels high.

The trouble is, I bought one not too long ago. Two years ago, on New Year’s Day, I woke up with what I thought was a hangover but turned into my bi-annual Very Bad Flu. Sitting through a 6pm showing of Into the Woods, wiping my nose on the edge of my sweater and realizing that I could not really breathe out of my nasal passages, I left the theatre as soon as it was over, went to Best Buy and picked out a humidifer that felt not too expensive.

I took it home and spent the entire winter tending to its needs like yet another pet, swabbing its crevices to remove a gross-looking amber colored buildup and swirling vinegar through its chamber. It required filling every night and I slept with it on my bedside table, its little snout pointed directly at my face. I think it did what I wanted it to do — I stopped waking up feeling dry and acutely aware of my sinuses. When winter was over, I packed it up and put it away. A few weeks ago, I looked for all its attendant parts and realized to my dismay that for reasons far beyond my ken, I could not find the lid to the reservoir that holds the water, rendering the thing useless. I looked for replacement parts online briefly before shoving the humidifer in a hall closet.

I’m not angry that I have to buy a humidifier because dry air is my new worst enemy. I’m mostly disappointed in myself that I’m wasting money because of my own bumbling ineptitude. Still, I will buy the humidifier. I will fall asleep to its soft hiss. This time, I will try not to lose the cap. It’s the least I can do.

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