Monday, May 9, 2011

A Day For Changing The Guard

Today is the springtime day I dread: The first day of the season when the heat isn’t on in the morning. It was meant to be that way, we had our windows open all night and therefore had turned the automatic heat off. It was cold all night with that crisp, night-time freshness that you get on these schizophrenic Colorado spring nights. And when I awoke, it was to the empty blaring of my travel alarm alone. There was no soothing yawn of central air wooshing through the lungs of my house. There was no comforting hug of hot, dry air from the vents in the bathroom.

No matter how tightly I wrapped my robe around me, I was still chilled. My warm, warm bed called ever more clearly to me.

Today’s the day in the spring that I hate most. It’s the day the house-air stays cold in the morning for the rest of the season. It means that later in the day, we’ll be hitting 80 degree heat. Later in the month, 90. Later in the summer, triple digits. It means that heat, blazing sunlight, and inescapable drudgery are nigh. I’ll begin my internal struggle with loving the freshness of the night air and loathing the pollens it brings with it. I’ll wrestle deeply with the decision to leave the windows open just one more night versus locking the place down and wallowing in the ice cold lick of central air-conditioning.

And every morning I’ll wake up, and repeat the same loatheful chants in my head: “goddamit” I’ll churn, reaching for my too-far-away bathrobe. “fucking fuck” I’ll wrench through my brains for enough stability and direction to force my freezing ankles toward the bathroom for a hot shower. After a shower, the bathroom will have been satisfactorily heated, except for the bottom six inches of air which claw at my feet like ravenous, sabertoothed ice-bunnies from hell. I will ache. I will hurt. I will be swollen and congested. Steam will cover the mirror and obscure the view that our petulant kitty cat craves while she’s getting her morning brushings. I’ll snuffle from the bathroom feeling damp and uncomfortable. Stepping back into the dimly lit house, the cold, aluminum colored air will pull more of my feeble energy from me and I’ll be rendered almost incapable of the simplest decisions.

Getting dressed will entail choosing an outfit that will be tolerable in the outdoor heat but which will also accommodate frigid office temperatures. It must offer full coverage that doesn’t reveal any parts which might become unpleasantly aware of temperature changes, while also appearing breezy and professional and season-appropriate. The outfit must not bunch or stretch or in any way accentuate any of my gently overburdened curves.

The resulting outfit will inevitably fail on one or more counts.

It’s springtime in the Rockies, and Lo I am bristling with loathe. I love the fresh air and the green colors and the spring flowers and the tender, curling vines. I love the humbling strolls through botanic gardens. I can’t stand the heat though. I’m just a cold-weather girl to my core and I absolutely wilt in the sun. My guts falter, my brain dilutes, and the whole world seems to grow claws.

This year, I’m going to try very hard to stay positive. I’m going to resist my cellular programming to hibernate RIGHT GODDAM NOW. I’m going to maintain what little social schedule I have established over the past few months and I am going to find ways to enjoy it.

There is so much to enjoy.

I just gotta’ muscle through this heat business.

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