Summertime blues...

My clothes are stuck to me like a second skin. A thin film of sweat has covered my entire body. No matter how many times I take a shower, I never feel quite clean or dry enough afterwards. Everything feels damp to my touch - including me.

I can’t seem to cool off even though I lay still under the ceiling fan and let the breeze tickle over my body. You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced nearly 100% humidity to weigh down on you like a wet blanket. Except this wet blanket is hot and you can’t kick it off of your already overheated body.

Why had I ever thought that summer was my favorite season?

Oh yeah now I remember, it’s because I was out of my mind.

Funnel Cake - a gift from the gods...

I would do many unsavory things for a good funnel cake. And can probably be bribed for a good funnel cake too.

Funnel cake or funnelcake is a regional specialty food originally associated with the Pennsylvania Dutch region of the United States, popular around the U.S. at sporting events, carnivals, fairs, festivals and seaside resorts. Funnel cakes are made by pouring batter through a funnel into hot oil in a circular pattern and deep frying it until golden-brown. When made at concession stands, a specially-made pitcher with an integral funnel-like spout is used instead of a separate funnel. Funnel cakes are often served with powdered sugar, jam, or other toppings. Funnel cakes are often incorrectly labeled a "novelty food". [citation needed]

Funnel cakes somewhat resemble the foods known as fried dough or “elephant ears”, but those dough products are made with a risen yeast dough, whereas funnel cakes are made with an unleavened batter. In I'm Just Here for More Food Alton Brown of Good Eats states that funnel cakes are best made with choux pastry, which, when baked, is leavened only by the steam from its high water content.

In Austria, the equivalent to funnel cake is called Strauben and is made and served, with regional varieties, the same way as among the Pennsylvania Dutch. In Slovene traditional cuisine, they are called flancati (pron. FLAN-tsa-tee). The Finnish analog of funnel cakes, tippaleipä, is traditionally served at May Day (Vappu) celebrations.

For what it's worth...

I'm done.

The energy I thought I had for my tempertantrum is spent. The hurt feelings I thought I had a firm grasp of, wriggled out from within my reach. I just can't stay riled about something so minor. It's stupid.

I've picked myself up and brushed myself off.

See?

All better.

It's funny how a little sand and ocean breeze can make it all okay again.





ps - and funnel cake.

Time Machine...

Occasionally I page through my written thoughts from the past. Good and bad times are brought to mind. Situations I experienced were revealed for all to witness. I re-read so I can see how far I’ve come in life and do a little personal critiquing for good measure. Do I write better now? Am I feeling better about that situation? Do I make any sense? How can I make this not happen again? Did that sentence ramble a bit too long? How can I improve communication from my brain to the pen? Is it even worth it?

Sometimes I read comments left for me. Familiar names pop up with their comforting or humorous words directed towards me and I smile as I read them. I see the tentative reaching out by others to me.

One of the names from my past recently went missing. I was surprised to see it had disappeared. We had spent a lot of time and shared a lot of words together. I had fun and for a while I felt special. I had taken the time to trust someone for the first time in longer than I care to share. But I found every last remnant of the conversations they had with me was erased. Now my responses look odd, as if I were talking to myself. I guess I really was. They have become a figment of my imagination.

I tend to reach out towards others to comfort or congratulate them, but don’t accept it well on my end. It makes me uncomfortable. Opening up freaks me out and I tend to deflect with humor or snark. Vulnerability is not something I care to share. Once a person takes a moment to dig, I wind up shutting down and out. Not on purpose, but it just seems to happen that way. What can I say? I’m a riddle even to myself.

I’m not going to bother to ask why the delete button was used to wipe out their existence with me. It is what it is. It’s been another learning moment for me.

There are reasons why I trust very few with my mangled heart - because it’s been my experience that everybody eventually takes what they need and leaves.

Scrub-a-dub-dub...

Basic chores around the house are not really fun.

I can't get too revved up scrubbing a toilet or washing the dishes.

Those are the normal things that get done on a regular basis. You get them done because they are a necessary evil in life. Then there are those "other" chores you do once a year that actually make you cringe.

Cringe when you think about having to do them and complain when you are actually doing them. These tasks make it to the top of my "maybe do later" list every year. My excuses are believeable and real. Procrastination is an art and I am an artist.

This year one of my particular "to-dos" came up and there was just no way to get out of it. No matter how I tried to get out of it, put it off until later, or just plain run away - I was unable.

I grabbed the scrub brushes, soap, bucket, and hose and headed for the front yard. He smiled and thanked me for help this year. To be honest, I don't remember the last time I actually helped clean the cover. Several years maybe?

We stretched the tarp out and got down to business.

Bubbles were floating and we were cleaning.

The sky clouded over and I felt the first raindrop on my head.

There was nothing I could do about it. I was in the middle of a huge endeavor and there was no way to shut it down until we were done.

So I welcomed it.

The moment I thought "bring it on" was the moment the heavens opened up.

It rained so hard that when the raindrops hit the road they bounced back up at me.

We continued to clean during the rain. I had gotten soaked to the bone.

As I tipped my head back and laughed out loud, I realized that I hadn't been caught in a storm like that since I was a child.

I laughed long and loud. My once-a-year chore was actually fun.

My neighbors must think I'm nuts.

8 days a week...

home

work

home

work

The cycle has become repetitive. (as I guess all cycles do)

My brain is fried and my mood on the churlish side.

I need a break.

I need to celebrate the sloth in me soon or I will burn out and be completely useless. Right now I'm only half useless.

I count the days to vacation.