Over the last few months, I’ve spent quite a bit of time complaining about the weather. This goes against one of my personal precepts: either celebrate the weather or leave it alone.(1)
Now to be fair, I’m not complaining about the weather, per se. The real issue is the way my fibromyalgia obeys its commands and becomes the weather’s bitch. Nevertheless, I’ve spent too much time not celebrating it and not leaving it alone. So here is a celebration of the very pleasant weather we’ve had for the past week.
I’ve felt the best I’ve felt since maybe January.(2) But really what I love is being able to leave the windows open at night,(3) how it’s almost too cold to do so. I love waking up at night uncertain if I need another layer of blanket, turning up the shower just a tad in the morning because though the water’s fine the air around me feels just about too cold by comparison, the sound of the slight breeze whispering through the screens, how it’ll turn my pages if I leave my book untended.
It really is something to celebrate, t-shirt weather. I’ll let The Lucksmiths take it away.
- I got that from Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates, my all-time-favorite Tom Robbins novel with my all-time-favorite fictional character, Switters.
- Aside from a brief bout this weekend in which, due to switching insurance agencies, I had to go without my usual dosage of Cymbalta. I was left feeling crabby, spaced-out, and funky. It was not cool.
- Which of course the cats think we do just so they can lie in front of, or even right on the ledge of, all night, all day, and pretty much any time they’re not at the food dish.
- Oh and also: thanks to everyone who was worried that yesterday’s post hailed the death of my Xbox. Forgive me, but everything is fine. I merely liked the image and felt it described the day I’d had rather well: a red ring of death. I will try in the future not to mis-spend any more of your goodwill.