I swear my house is bipolar. One moment it feels like I’m burning in the flames of Hell, and the next moment it feels like I’m stranded in the middle of Antarctica. My house is the literal manifestation of Katy Perry’s “Hot N Cold.” Regularly, I awake in the middle of the night to heat flashes, the thermometer on the wall boasting a whopping eighty-five degrees. My nomadic family has yet to install a smart thermostat, let alone a “dumb” thermostat, so I do all that I can do. I stumble half-conscious out of my bedroom, nearly tripping down the stairs on the way to manually lower the temperature of our clunky heating system. The whole ordeal takes around four minutes, which wouldn’t be terrible, if it wasn’t 2am. Once I reach my bed again, my tiredness has worn off, and I can no longer fall asleep. To make matters worse, about fifteen minutes into my failed attempt to fall back asleep, the sweltering heat has been replaced by bone-chilling air. I have two options—to repeat my downstairs trek or to bundle in layers and pray for slumber. My decision depends on my laziness, which if I’m being honest, affects me more nights than not. If I had a smart thermostat installed, I could finally embrace my laziness; but even more importantly, I could finally get a good night’s sleep, knowing that my house’s temperature won’t drastically change. And if for some reason the temperature does change, I could feel confident in knowing that I could control my thermostat in my bed, from my phone, at the click of a button.