Woosh. The wind whistles through my dark hair. The bitter cold air makes my blue eyes shut tight. Blooming flowers, rustling trees, damp grass; their smells all fill my nose. My arms are spread out wide to catch the breeze as I stand between the train tracks. My thoughts are focused, calm, ready. I’m ready.
In the distance, I hear the bells ringing to announce the arrival of an oncoming train. A small smile plays at my lips. My control on my thoughts begins to slip, though. My mind wanders into the past, into the things I cannot change, and I’m left helpless once again to something more powerful than I am.
Images of my father pass through my mind. He touches me, softly, tells me he loves me. Tells me there’s no need to be scared. Tells me that nobody needs to know, that when two people love each other, this is what they do. I am once again young and alone, unaware that he is wrong. Unafraid of his influence over me and my life. I let him touch me, kiss me, love me because nobody else will. Just because nobody else does.
Another time, my father is angry. His breath smells of liquor as his touch bruises me. I’m no longer young and he is no longer gentle. He is coarse and unkind. I am weak and fearful. My father’s eyes are cloudy, filled with rage and a long forgotten past. A past filled with as much pain as I endure from him. As much pain as I allow him to give me.
I begin to gain control, but not enough. I can still faintly see my mother, staring at me as I tell her about my father. Shaking her head, waving her dish cloth, not believing me when I say that my father touches me, loves me in ways he shouldn’t. She looks at me, angry, and pushes me. I fall into a wall. She walks away, stepping over my crumpled self and into the living room, unable to believe her own daughter. Not willing to accept the truth.
I rein in my thoughts, keeping them pinned up in my head again. Stay, I think, as if they are dogs. I concentrate on what I really need to understand. This world no longer needs an Amy Goldman. My father no longer needs a person to love. Nobody loves me besides him. Nobody in this world cares about me except him. I am useless here. I need to leave here.
The train bells get louder, closer. I feel the tracks begin to rumble beneath me. Gone are the aromas of spring, replaced with the smell of dirt and diesel. My heart, my breath, my body speeds up. My thoughts are screaming now. I AM USELESS HERE! I NEED TO LEAVE HERE! Just as the train is about to reach me, just as everything is about to be peaceful, better, I panic. I can stay. I can speak. I can share my thoughts and it can get better here. But it’s too late for me, though. Before I can speak, talk, share, the train hits me. I am gone from here.

I was told by reps of direct vent fireplace stores at a Home & Garden show that the cold air was conducting from the steel box and there was nothing I could do. Is this true?

It’s a standard, sliding glass patio door on the second floor balcony. Approximately 8 or 9 feet wide total.

I can feel cold air coming through like crazy , and it’s not even officially winter yet!

I have vertical blinds which i must keep up and usable and I can’t do any permanent changes because this is an apartment.