I should never wait until Sunday evening to write this blog. I get to this time in the evening and all my inner voice wants me to do is go out in the kitchen and pour a glass of wine, rustle up a few nibbles and go out on the porch, read a book and watch folks walking by. Oh, I should add in that kitchen visit to feed the cats. Rose just very loudly reminded me of that responsibility. I had planned to write earlier in the week since I knew I was going out today and wouldn’t have a stretch of time to put words down here. But the bloody heat this weak sapped my brain and energy to a degree that writing a shopping list was a challenge. I don’t do well in heat — I never have done well in heat. Once the thermometer hits 90+++ for more than one day at a time, my whole mind, body and spirit shrivel up leaving me with only enough wherewithal to maybe scoop the poop and make me a cup of tea in the morning. I told my friend, Sue, that I think my reaction to heat is due to the fact that I was born in the coldest and darkest time of the year. She didn’t think I could find an ounce of scientific proof behind that theory.
I don’t even care. I just hate feeling like this. Last night I was up ten times, five of those to jump back in the shower to cool down. My little air conditioner in the living room doesn’t spread its cooling around the corner and into the bedroom. (I can’t stand to have an air conditioner in the bedroom so I should just suck that one up, eh?) Add to that, the heat generated by two fat, furry beasts who insist on sprawling their huge bodies out on the bed so they can catch as much of the wind from the fan as they can — leaving me with a sliver of bed to do the same.
I just feel grumpy in this weather — as if you couldn’t tell. It’s quite remarkable how different I feel when the humidity and temperature drop to a reasonable 80 or, even better, 70. I am all smiles running here and there and coming up with just splendid ideas to research and write about. But, before the first idea can come to the page, the heat has returned and I’m back to Ms. Lethargy, reading a book that I’ve already read three times just because I can’t bear to think.
That’s it. I’m giving up these words tonight. Rose is being her obnoxious self demanding her wet food NOW not even waiting until her brother rouses himself from the closet floor. She has no patience for his lack of support when it comes to demanding food. He knows it will come sometime and he’d rather sleep until that time. Well, here he is so I guess that means I’m closing this. Just as well, since it is not very inspired and definitely not inspiring. I think the best thing I can do is go have that glass of wine and read the thrice-read book on the porch and maybe think about sleeping on the couch tonight in the air conditioned room.