Oh, yes, summer has finally arrived carrying a flamethrower of humidity so even when it’s not scorching hot…I’m still moist and sweaty. I have no air. Well, actually, I have central air, it just doesn’t work. I also have three window units but oh, wait, place isn’t wired to handle running more than one at a time. And oh, there’s more…I have no outlet to plug into because the landlord won’t fix the fried one…So lots of fans, cool down showers, and sweaty bitchiness is in my future. After needing a sweater for three days last week. No wonder my seasonal is hanging around and reading the newspaper while flipping me off. Meds can’t cure the fucking weather.
AND THERE IT IS. I have been assimilated by the midwest to now discuss the bleeding weather. Though it’s less a discussion and more a “if I seem more bitchy and misanthropic, it’s because I am marinating in my own sweat” explanation.
Yesterday was…Hot. Sticky. Ran an errand, only to remember it was Sunday and everything opens late. I swore a lot. Wasting the gas, and spork, and having to venture ut again into the dish really pissed me off. I didn’t even think. And that’s becoming the norm, like I am blanking out. This morning, Spook told me a cat was trying to claw its way in the back door. I figured it was one of the ferals. I opened the door and this little black kitten was battling to climb inside and I looked at it dead on and thought, how bizarre, the ferals won’t come near us.
It took me a whole thirty seconds to figure out it was Brimstone, one of our indoor kittens, who somehow got out. So no like me to not do a morning head count of my cats, even less like me not to recognize one I’ve raised from birth. Maybe I have a brain goblin or dementia. It was just scary to be so blank. I felt shitty, too, for not recognizing him.
I don’t recognize me anymore, either. I swore to never become a frump. I lied to myself. Or more aptly, the depression put me in a place to not give a fuck. When it takes four sporks to get out the door, it doesn’t leave much beyond making sure you don’t reek and have shoes on.
I’ve noticed I have a couple of blog award nominations, I will tend to those later. Today I am humoring R with my lunch companionship. Joy, joy. Spook will be at my mom’s getting tainted into more of an ungrateful brat. On the plus side, she’s staying the night so if I can survive the dish…I can come home and blog without MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY as my soundtrack. It’s supposed to be 94 today, hopefully my computers don’t melt in their plastic casings.
Let’s see…If I try reeeeally hard I can find a couple of positive things, surely…
Oh, yes, my dad brought us sweet corn on the cob from his garden…And I’ll be damned if Spook didn’t eat four pieces and love it. I could have fainted from shock after years of her saying corn is gross. That kind of talk will get you tossed out of the midwest! (I wish.)
Oh, and Absinthe slept with me (as did my kid, but by 11, I would’ve done anything to make her go to sleep) and she was an absolute cuddle bug. I took half a Melatonin, started to nod off,woke. And she was still purring. I sat up and took the the other, got some dirty looks from her, but she returned to sleep in the crook of my neck. AWWWW. I woke several more times, so not even Melatonin helps beyond making me sleepy enough to nod off. If a purring kitty can’t keep me soothed and asleep…
I was gonna be positive wasn’t I. Hmm. Yeah, that went out the window when my kid woke me at 5 a.m. and started in with “Is it time to go to grandmas yet.”
Ok, I gotta do the clothes thing and face this dish thing. Eating lunch with another human being as a nasty task to be dealt with. I am a special kind of fucked up.