Oh, the mysteries of life

That thing, right up there, above this sentence, is my heater. And the very tips of my toes, but those aren't important to this post. As you can probably see, it's dusty, and it lives under my hardwood floor. My flammable hardwood floor. And it gets really really hot, and clangs and bangs under my floor like it's going to explode at any moment. This is how I heat my house, which has suddenly become important, since it went from summer to "holy shit, it's really cold out there" in about five minutes flat. I haven't turned on said heater yet, because despite all the clanging and threats to explode, it doesn't actually do much. This, to me, is one of the mysteries of New Orleans. In a place with such a crazy climate, there's little to no climate control in these old houses, of which mine is one. Yes, it gets to over 100 degrees here, and yet I only have two little window air conditioners. And despite popular belief, it gets cold too. For example, the other day when I woke up it was only 58 degrees in my bedroom. And yet, despite my house being a six-room shotgun, there is only one little heater, which basically means that my bedroom feels like a sauna, and the rest of the house like a freezer. Can someone explain this me?