This is my least favourite time of year. Winter is well and truly gone, daylight savings is in full swing, Christmas is coming and the oppressive heat is already making me ill. It isn’t even summer yet, gods help me when December hits.
I’m the kind of girl that loves cold weather. Oversized jumpers and open fires and curling up with…anyone. This past winter was incredibly bleak however, and went for too long. Or at least, that was what I was saying a month ago. Now all I want is that cold weather back. I’m lying on my couch in panties and a tee, nursing a headache and cursing whatever or whoever is responsible for making her weather a thing.
It got to 38 degrees today. It’s just gone 7pm and it’s still 35. I am not handling it well. Even in the air conditioned store I work in, the heat still managed to have her wretched way with me. About mid way through my shift and I felt the dull ache begin behind my eyes. It gradually worsened and now I’m here feeling like there’s a little man with a jackhammer in my head, drilling into my brain. Stupid jackhammer man.
My body’s intolerance to heat, coupled with the fact that almost my entire wardrobe is black, and the fact that it’s not socially acceptable to walk around in public wearing nothing but panties and some nipple tassels, means that for the next three months – at least – I will be in varying states of sickness and heat fuelled, rage addled frustration. I pity the people who have to deal with me over summer. The sooner I finish my novel and become disgustingly wealthy, the sooner I can buy a getaway home in Portland and avoid Australian summer altogether. Guess I best get writing.