Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Heat + Jessi = Crankypants

Who's comin' with me?
Have I mentioned the heat wave? It has "broken" which means that I no longer risk life and limb just by driving home, but it doesn't mean that it feels any less hot to me. I know that I've probably brought this up before, but I am a hot natured person. I get hot easily. I roast right along with the chestnuts if there is anywhere present an open fire. I don't light candles in the summer because they add what I call "ambient heat." I don't go outside unless I can see the shade before I get there and I only wear my coat for about 60 days a year.

Have I painted you a picture yet?

And it's not just that I don't like being hot. I mean I don't like lots and lots of things: needles, sewing, Charlie Sheen, horseback riding or the color orange. But being hot elicits a decidedly physiological reaction from me. When I sweat, my head itches. Itches like lice have infested my brain. I don't know why. All of my clothes feel as if they are made of sandpaper and my goal in life is to not have anything touch me. And when I say anything, I mean my kids.

As much as I love the rugrats and enjoy cuddling to the nth degree, will someone please keep them busy and off of me until the temps hit the 80's again? At least. I feel terribly guilty every single stinking day when I pick up Maren at the baby sitter's and she says, "Pick me UP!" and I say, "Hold my HAND!" I act like I'm teasing her, but I'm seriously hoping that she'll just grab my hand and go.

And Brynna is in this stage where her favorite thing to do is crawl over me like an inconveniently placed pillow. And if I so much as hint that I am not enjoying the added body heat, elbow in my sternum and head between me and the TV, she whines pitifully while looking at me with huge cupie doll eyes that she just "wants to be with me."

Also, I have the energy of a slug. That may not be fair. I'm not sure what kind of energy levels slugs have, but I feel like laying around all blob-like, much as a slug, so I'm going with it. And my temper - she ain't what she used to be and she was never all that great. Seriously, all I want to do is lay around and whine.

My office is ridiculously hot, because my neighbors control the thermostat and they all come in early and turn it off because it's "chilly" and then leave before noon and lock the frickin' door behind them, so by mid-afternoon, my office is a sauna and I am dying in it.

And even when I get home and wallow for a while in the heaven-sent air conditioning (seriously, how does one doubt the existence of God when one is sitting in a 60 degree house when it's 107 outside) I still don't feel all that much better. Okay, I'm not hot anymore, but I am all kinds of previously hot. You know what I mean, that dried sweat, sticky-icky, my energy's already been zapped, can't we just eat Popsicles and popcorn for dinner feeling.

Alrighty. I'm done. That's all the energy I have for weather-related bitching. In fact, that's all the energy I have. I need a nap. Under the fan. Right after I get out of a cold shower. Join me in my heat-whine.

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