Funny how the slightest change in your environment can drastically change your state of being. At 31 degrees Fahrenheit, and ice cube is just that, an ice cube. At 32 degrees, it's a melting mess. I'm particularly affected by changes in temperature, and the older I get, the more aware of these changes I become.
For me, the summer is a tortuous lover. It starts with the blood pounding dizziness of new lovers infatuation after the long winter. Energy bursts, the sun tans, muscles tone, and the nights go longer. I become Icarus. But like a party that won't slow down, those hot beautiful days and nights of heat start me creeping towards the edge of locura. By August's end, I'm edgy, frustrated, restless; a glint of mania in the eye. My sanity glass full, I begin to sweat gasoline and invisible spikes of fiberglass. Hot asphalt and me with no shoes. I start to lose sleep, laying in bed dueling with old voices.
And then, just like that, an 88 degree breeze will blow in, and I'm medicated in calm. The sky is blue, each days feels paced, and I'm whole again. I can sit in the backyard, staring at my trees, mulling over this and that, at peace with myself and the world around me. Just like breaking a high fever, you breathe deep gulps of air, wipe the swipe from your body, and sleep untouched by the Heat Miser.
True, other elements will conspire against this brief respite, bringing The Black Dog back to my dance card, but for now, at this temperature – I'm good. I'll sit back, watch some football, drink a cold Coke, love my girlfriend, and chill.
