May 25: Too Hot (Boo) Vaxxed (Yay) Summer
I write this as close to the a/c vent as possible, as the temperatures here have been creeping up up and past 90 already ("It's MAYYYY!" she wailed). Some of you know that I don't particularly enjoy the heat--I'm a sweater; not the garment, the type of person who sweats. I've been clinging to a probably-untrue fact I read in a Glamour magazine as a teenager ever since. To wit, if you are more inclined to sweat, it's because your body is more efficient. I am EFFICIENT AF.
Not that my desperate hatred of the super humidity (yes, I know, I live in Kentucky) period of the year hasn't brought me some good things. The story of how Christopher and I got married centers around the air conditioning breaking in our apartment and our landlord refusing to fix it. My mother, sensing a chink in the armor my famously "don't need a piece of paper to formalize my relationship" mantra, an opportunity, if you will, suddenly revealed that she had a bank account for my wedding. And that if, say, Christopher and I were to get married and not have the wedding, she'd give us the balance as a downpayment on a house. SOLD. We made plans to run off to North Carolina and get married at the Raleigh courthouse in two weeks time. I bought my flapper-style dress from Macy's dot com. In the meantime, we ended up in the very first house we looked at--a 1902 place that was originally a doctor's office and so had a fancy pressed tin ceiling and tile floor in what was previously the waiting room. It's the house we're still in. We got it scandalously cheap, from a guy who got it even more scandalously cheap and fixed it up (this was housing boom time, baby). ANYWAY, I slept under the one ceiling fan for most of the two weeks leading up to the wedding. I've been known to say that Lizzie Borden's actions were understandable given how hot it was supposed to be that day.
You get the picture.
I also end up bathed in sweat at any kind of show where there's dancing or when playing with friends' kids. Just look at this snap from last weekend of our (fully vaxxed) writing group (minus the great and good Olivia, who couldn't make it) and my extremely drenched bangs.
What a good time though! We sat around a fire and gabbed and it was such a delight. The next day, on walkies, I ran into other writing friends out and about (and possibly completed a cookie heist on leftovers from Transylvania U's graduation ceremony). Planning for a mini-retreat with some others has begun. And so this past week has been the first to feel anything like normal, but in some ways, I'd say better than normal. Gathering feels special now, more than it did before. Seeing people at all feels special. Precious, in a non-tooth-achingly sweet way. (Remember those creepy fucking giant-eyed Precious Moments dolls? I SURE DO. *shudders* Like, the dark side of anime gone very, very wrong. Maybe you have one in your house right now--make sure it doesn't Come To Life.)
Anyway, I hope I don't ever take for granted how great it is to be at the Writer's Room and have a friend pop their head in, as they arrive to write, as happened today. Or run into someone and catch up on the street. I hope it always feels as precious as it does right now. I have a feeling it's going to at least for the rest of the summer--which PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S GOOD calm down with the heat. But we will NOT be calling it Precious Moments Summer. Okay? Stay cool, all.
*fans newsletter subscribers*
More next week,
Gwenda
Preorder the new book, Not Your Average Hot Guy, out Oct. 5, wherever you like to get your books.