falling into it
So it begins. Today was the first day, but tis the season of slow rising. Waking in summer is cake. I’m sweating balls and itching to be in a shower by the time the sun fights against my shades which is why I have the blinds there too; just in case. But that’s all over. Now the season of darkness and chill is creeping in. I, for one, can’t wait.
I’m sick of eight-degree weather. I’m sick of seventy-degree weather. The midwest is way too damn humid for this. If America were a person, it’d be fat and jogging, and the midwest would be the slimy section of back between the shoulder blades and ass. All day, sweating. I sweat more consistently than I inhale once the mercury how archaic, no one has those sorts of thermometers anymore hits seventy-seven.
I threw some dart last night, with the A.C. on and closed the door to the upstairs while opening the door to the downstairs. By opening the basement door, I tried to block the majority of the airflow so the A.C. would actually cool the room. Up to that point it was like someone opening and then quickly shutting the door to the sauna. I turned on the ceiling fan even. Didn’t work. I was still sweating until finally going downstairs, cranking the A.C., and watching the game. Fucking disgusting.
I rolled around for a few hours after the game and slept like hell. I twisted the sheets all to shit, turned on the t.v., turned off the t.v., turned on the Fray my go-to for slumber jams because within three songs I’m tossing Z’s, and tried to focus on my breathing I hear it helps. It was raining, but not loud enough to cause any reaction other than a vague feeling of having to piss.
But the rain must have helped and I woke up to a cool, dark room. Unfortunately I hadn’t adjusted for the weather. Winter for me is a two-alarms-set-one-across-the-room sort of season. I always turn off the alarm in a semi-coherent state and don’t remember. So I woke up late. I didn’t have time for a shower. If you add the laziness which could have stopped the marathon on a dime if directed down toward the lake that kept me out of the cleansing spray yesterday, that means I’m in rough shape.
It’s gloomy out, it’s rainy out, I’m unshowered, and I may have managed to eek out an impressive three hours of combined sleep. I’m not in the best of moods. I’m setting my second alarm and maybe tossing the first across the room so I have to work for it. Bring on the cool weather and slow mornings. It’s about fucking time.
Marty Funkhauser Says: