Holy crap. My father linked this small, backwater blog to his very happening facebook page and the Free Believers Network and consequently I've had loads of traffic all morning, just in time for them to read all about my procreating angst.
"You're up for being vulnerable, so I thought I'd give you a platform for that," he said, when I called him this morning to tell him that he'd opened a portal to the masses.
Yes, yes I am up for being vulnerable, I think there's tremendous value in it. Even if I do end up writing like a glowingly articulate manic depressive. Still though, I feel like, gosh, if I'd known I was having company, I'd have written a really stunning blog post instead of just the usual blathering on. Speaking of which.
Outside it is sticky hot with a saturating, debilitating humidity. As soon as I step out the door, I feel as though I've put on twenty pounds and lost all my muscle mass. And it's only ten thirty in the morning. The sibilance of the AC is a constant background noise, an ominous sound for our electricity bill.
Stubbornly, I have tried to continue walking the dogs in the early afternoon. As of today, I give up. I'm officially surrendering to the southern climate. I acknowledge the error of my ways and repent. I will train myself to walk at seven thirty in the morning, as I had originally planned.
And people lived here before the invention of AC! How on earth did they do it? Mint juleps and wide verandas can only go so far in mitigating the heat, I assure you. Sponge baths, dimity and gingham equally so. They must have lived each and every day from April to October just dripping in sweat.
