I have become firmly convinced (especially in this last week) that if there is a hell – I’m living in it.
Don't try to change my mind - it's pointless.
Yep – right here, right now in a small unassuming little Midwestern town.... is where hell is located. Sweltering heat, a humidity factor higher than the outside temperature (which is in the high 80’s to start with) and gray, gloomy overcast skies.
The air is so thick and heavy, the moisture of it accumulates on my skin like dew. I can’t move – my body is sluggish. And I can’t breathe. I gasp for air. I wheeze. And sweat gathers in places on my body I didn’t even know could collect sweat.
Yep – this has to be what hell feels like. Outside.
And inside? Another kind of hell for sure. Frigid central air conditioning that sucks every ounce of moisture out of the air – my skin flakes and peels, my throat is dry and hoarse, my contacts dry on my eyes. My hell is a cave – with the windows and doors shut tightly and the shades and curtains drawn.
Yep – this SoCal transplant is having a really (really) hard time dealing with this. I am cranky and irritable. Snappish. Prone to temper tantrums.
I don’t even like my own company.
And I hate my hair. Can someone please explain how hair can be lank and limp and big and frizzy all at the same time? Because to me - it defies logic. (not to mention every hair product on the shelf guaranteed to tame it.)
(drumming fingers on desk)
It sucks to be me.
In this Midwestern version of hell.
There’s only one thing to do – and I’m off to do it. My husband is hiding somewhere in this meat locker cold that used to be our home.
I’m off to find him.
And kick him.
It’s all his fault.
He’s the one who brought me here in the first place.
Hey – I told you I was cranky and irritable.
Hell does that to a person.