It had to happen sometime: I've hit the proverbial and literal wall (walked into a door frame this morning).So much is going on that I'm really just half-assing everything to get through another week...and then another...and another until I finally reach the end of July and head home for a week-long break.
"Home," for those who don't know or haven't guessed is Chicago. I used to be coy about naming the city that bore me because CG1 and I USED to be anonymous. Until we were outted in a local magazine. Now we don't actually care.
Back to the story: I loooooove to go home to visit.
"Visit" being the key word in that statement.
There's nothing about the city - and metro area - that I don't love... EXCEPT the months of January, February and March.
Christ on a bike it gets cold. I mean, freeze your eyeballs to the lids, hang onto ropes strung between the buildings so you don't blow away, snowmobile-suit as fashion-statement cold.
Or as meteorologists say, "Brrrrrr fucking cold."
So what'd I do when I moved away? Landed somewhere that provides the perfect conditions to give a person heatstroke four months out of the year. If you'd like to know what Alabama feels like in summer, wrap yourself in a wet wool blanket, turn the oven up to 400 degrees, open the door and sit in front of it. Now try to breathe. Nice, no?
Now that I've experienced both extremes I can't decide which is worse: Nostril Icicles and shoveling ten-tons of snow or Chronic Nether-Region Heat Rash.
But I'm going to Chicago in July, which is lovely. A little hot, a smidge humid, but no wool blankets.
Sister is scheduled to birth a new nephew in 8 days, mom turns 65 in a couple of weeks.
So sister, being the uber-organized masochist she is, is planning a pool party for mom's birthday.
Let that sink in for a minute: a group of 65-year-old women (none of them Sophia Loren or Raquel Welch) splashing around in the pool. There will be no burning those images from my brain. Ever.
Is there a point to this rambling nonsense? No. I warned you that I'm in half-ass mode.
Comments
I, for one, would pick nostril icicles over overheated wet blanket. Of course, one of the things that I like about Massachusetts is that we rarely get those two extremes.
I hate the winter, but I've lived in Florida... I'll take cold over dripping-wet heat anyday.