I’m a Delicate Flower

Stop laughing.  I am, damn it.  Shut the fuck up!  Ok, I am not a delicate flower, but I sure as hell feel like one when I am outside in plus-eighty weather.  It’s supposed to reach 92° today, which is my idea of a living death.  Today is grocery-shopping day, and I had to drop something in the post which is waaaay at the other end of the complex which houses my co-op.  I was wearing black pants made of light fabric (my mom brought it for me from Taiwan.  They are experts in dealing with hot weather clothing.  Lots of light fabrics that are semi-see-through) and a black short-sleeve shirt.  I had on my black sandals.  That was it.  Granted, black retains heat, but it was still juuuuuust about the minimal amount of clothing I could wear in public and cover all the jiggly bits.  

There was a breeze, but it was still unbearably hot.  All I could think about was that I wanted to strip naked and cut off all my hair.  I was suggesting on FB last night that I should have a fainting couch.  My dear, dear friends embellished upon that theme.  It should be a black velvet fainting couch, and Alan Rickman should be feeding me chocolates and fanning me with a peacock-feathered fan  No!  Alan should be giving me a full-body massage with ice cubes–while he’s naked.  

Hey.  It’s my fantasy, and I can envision it any way I want.  

Anyway, I wrote my ode to winter way back in the beginning of this blog.  Now, here is my rant against summer.  First, though, I will give the one prop to spring/summer that they deserve:  Less clothing.  I love watching people walk around in nothing but shorts and tanks after a winter of multiple layers ad parkas.  Other than that, though, summer can go to hell.  Oh, one other good thing about summer–watermelon.  That’s it.  That’s all.

I hate dripping sweat as I walk under the rays of the relentless sun.  I hate feeling hot and itchy and miserable as I am aware of the pools of sweat forming under my boobs and my armpits.  I hate having our state bird (the mosquito) buzz around me, engaging in a feeding frenzy because apparently, my blood is very much to their liking.  Plus, I am allergic to mosquito bites, so they swell up to the size of…um, bigger than a silver dollar, but smaller than a CD.  Then, no matter how much anti-itching gel I put on them, they itch like crazy.  I just have to scratch them until they bleed, which is not a very attractive sight, believe you me.

I hate having my energy sapped the minute I walk out the door.  It’s as if the sun latches onto my insides and pulls until I am an empty shell.  I don’t want to do anything but sulk and sweat.  The other thing is that I try to not use the air conditioner (I have it set at 82°), so the only place that is cool in the house when it reaches over eighty outside is the basement.  I might break down this year and set the air lower if it means saving my sanity.  I can rationalize it with the fact that I don’t have kids and I don’t drive every day (and I don’t use lights), so I am already doing my small part to conserve energy.  Plus, I have my heater set at 63° during the winter, 60° at night.  In the end, my sanity might be more important than saving a few bucks (and a few micrometers of the earth).  

I hate the way my brain refuses to focus when it’s being parboiled.  I hate the fact that my thoughts come out as slow as molasses.  I hate that I can’t take off my skin as well as my clothes.  Right now, I am blogging topless, and I am considering taking off my shorts as well.  I do have a fan.  Maybe I should turn that on.  I would have to move the sleeping kitty (in MY chair, no less) to get to the fan.  I don’t want to disturb him, so I will not do it.

I hate allergies.  I wake up with puffy eyes and a hacking wheeze.  Yes, a wheeze can be hacking.  Trust me on this.  One distinct memory I have of my childhood is waking up one time, and my eyes were glued shut with gunk.  My brother had to lead me to the sink and help me dissolve the gunk with the liberal application of warm water.  I am allergic to everything and anything, and most of my allergies are especially vicious in the spring and summer.

I find that as it gets hotter, my mood gets grumpier and I sink further into depression.  The demons which are asleep for most of the winter, hibernating as it were, wake up in full bear (yes, that was a pun, damn it), demanding to be fed.  It makes ME want to hibernate right through May, June, July, and August.  Yes, we have four months of spring/summer (also known as road construction season) before heading back to fall/winter.  I want to pull the shade on the sun so it can’t directly touch me.  I’m pretty sure I have SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), but true to my nature, I have it in the off-seasons.  People have suggested SAD lamps, but my problem isn’t too little sun, it’s too goddamn much of it.

I have joked before that I’m a vampire, but I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a grain of truth in that.  Or maybe I’m part vampire bat.  They like to live in dark, enclosed spaces, but they mostly live in hotter climates.  However, I am a night person, and I loath the light and the heat.  This makes me even more a freak than ever.  While everyone else is exulting over the sunshine and the eighty-plus weather, I’m retreating further and further into my bat lair.  I’ll see you in four months.