This morning I treated myself to a slice of pie and coffee for breakfast. It’s an expensive treat, as my pie purveyor of choice is a little on the upscale-but-pretty-delicious-so-I-guess-it’s-kind-of-worth-it side. Or maybe just the gimme-a-raise-and-I’d-totally-do-this-every-weekend side. Either way, it was fabulous, and I sat and read and enjoyed my people watching time while it was still cool enough to be outside. Which, I feel like I should mention, 12 hours later I think it’s hotter now than it was then. It’s sticky, and muggy, and the kind of all around miserable (it’s 30C! at 11pm!) where you can’t really lay in one spot too long becuase then it’s just too hot, and the fan’s not enough, and you wonder if anyone would even notice if you just slept on the balcony tonight.
Really? That’s just me?
Alright then. Air conditioning does funny things to people. I didn’t realize this until I was no longer in possession of that sweet, sweet luxury. My parents love their AC. Love. Adore. It wouldn’t actually surprise me if they worshiped it as the deity of bearable summers. And so, because they constantly bask in the glory of that recycled and artificially cooled air (really, I’m not bitter or jealous) regardless of whether they’re at home or at work or in their cars, the slightest hint of heat sends makes them a little, well, apoplectic. I recently had a conversation with someone at work who couldn’t believe that a friend and I could possibly survive in our respective un-airconditioned homes. How do you sleep??. How, indeed. Not particularly well, but it certainly makes you appreciate those wonderful, cool, breezy nights just a little bit more.
This all occurs to me because after having been home for less than 3 hours, I’ve been driven out of my apartment by the heat. Only to the balcony, mind you. We spend a lot of time on the balcony these days, and if I could just get it a little brighter at night without acrobatics involving a Coleman camping lantern, I think I’d spend more nights out here too.
