it is hot as fuck in washington right now, as it is everywhere. yesterday seattle broke the record at 97 slippery degrees. i met my new landlords to sign the lease. they were extremely nice, both sick with some sort of gastric ailment as they were... he has a rather unnervingly dry manner about him, while she seemed much more expressive. their 13 month old son circled me with precocious curiosity, at one point pawing my sweaty back beneath my tank top. his hand positively slid across my skin. the only salvation to meeting people that will be controlling a large portion of my life whilst literally dripping perspiration, my jeans sticking to me, was that they were also.
the air here is utterly stagnant. the skyline appears brown from a distance. the mountains are cauled in murk. my sinuses are throbbing.
it should be cooler by the time i move. god, i hope so. i am a fan of the extreme weather, but only with the option of relief. i even found enjoyment in the sphincter-puckering cold of alaska, when my eyelids would perceptibly stick to my corneas when i blinked, because there was always a heated refuge nearby.
i am always whinging about something, it seems.
i complain about the little things and swallow the huge problems with little expression. the ugliest issues are the ones i stress about whilst driving home from work, the focus of the day giving way to another night stretching out, aimless, missing what i cannot have. i told him last night "i cannot respect myself if i keep going back." i got off the phone and cried, but briefly, because it is pointless to cry without an audience. and i wondered, as usual, if that was my last chance at love, if a fucked-up version of 'love' is all i deserve, if my fucked-up version of love is everyone else's bliss. and then i start to think of what a pain in the ass it would be to have to share my bed with someone, anyone, much less my life, and i feel a little bit better.
and the ms... every mild twinge scares me more than i can even admit to myself. if i pretend the potential for further problems doesn't exist, it doesn't, right?
i do not have to work tomorrow, or today, now. i can even ignore the midnight oil playing. stretch, skin salty.
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2 comments:
I almost micturated in my drawers when I read that title. It is fucking hot. I'm at the Portland Airport on my way back to AK from SF for my father's funeral. It was 110 in the east bay during the service, between 90 and 100 in SF, and about 100 here right now, outside the airconditioned environ of the airport.
i am very sorry about your father.
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