Much to my delight, the weather seems to be turning a corner.
When I trudge back to my cupboard of a bedroom in the afternoon, sunshine is streaming in through the immense window.
Heat is actually trapped within my walls and it isn't costing me anything.
If I shut my curtains early enough, then it might even last well into the evening.
I was away, in Canada, for the first half of the year and so I have yet to experience summer in this elderly brick terrace.
I track the progress of the sun across my carpet with eager anticipation.
But as I lie sprawled across my sheets, yellow beams blinding me, I am under no illusion that Dunedin is just going to let winter slide.
Each morning peek behind the curtain is a frightened gamble.
I spent the first four months of my year in freezing abject misery.
As an unsuspecting exchange student, I found Montreal's continental climate was like nothing I had ever experienced.
A relative told me my brain would freeze, and she wasn't far wrong.
Not even my ex-Antarctic exploration coat could shield me from the cold.
Since I've been back the cold and I have had an interesting relationship.
On the one hand, being plunged back into winter after a North American summer was a shock to the system.
On the other hand, damp, drizzling Dunedin was relatively unimpressive when held against snowdrifts and blizzards.
I have been trying to draw parallels between these winter experiences.
Montrealers, in a manner similar to many Dunedinites, are impervious to the cold.
They soldier on in denim jackets, nightclub hopping and grocery shopping regardless of what is going on outside.
Foolishly, I thought that after many years of suffering in poorly insulated homes I would be equipped to carry on in much the same way.
Soon, however, I found myself hoping and praying for a day off.
But nothing closes. Ever. Not for ice storms, and certainly not for freezing New Zealanders who can't face another humiliating slide down the sidewalk.
There is a certain nobility to the Canadian attitude.
If a decent part of your year is blacked out by impenetrable winter then it makes sense to stubbornly continue going about your life.
I realise, though, that this attitude only goes so far down here.
My friends and I are perfectly willing to brave chilling winds (and maybe hail) for the promise of beers and music in a warm bar.
I will walk to the library in a rainstorm and refuse to artificially heat my room but as soon as Dunedin coughs up a bit of snow and sleet, that's it.
While Canadians band together to conquer the cold, we in Dunedin snuggle up and charmingly suggest that whatever we needed to do can wait.
Besides, the snow will be gone by tomorrow anyway.
Similarly, as we all enjoy the warmer weather, we share a certain kind of dread.
How long will this hold? When will I wake up with my duvet frozen on to my nose, ice crystals sprouting from my eyeballs?
Despite my reservations, I find this terror a touch more stimulating than the monotonous toil of a Montreal winter.
There's something nice about thinking you might leave the house without a scarf, only to be blown into a power pole upon leaving class three hours later. Dunedin winter is keeping me on my toes.
Of course I'm hoping this sun is going to stick around, at least until the exam period, or maybe just long enough for me to wash and dry my sheets all on the same day.
- Millie Lovelock is a Dunedin student.
