Christ in a haystack it’s hot.
(Christ in a haystack is something I have been saying a lot lately, and I have no idea why or where it came from. Could I possibly have heard it in a movie?).
I really don’t want to be that Dane who is constantly complaining about the weather, because that is a tendency among my fellow countrymen that just drives me nuts, but GOOD GOD. It’s like the sun exploded on us. Yesterday, it was 83 degrees fahrenheit, and no matter where I was or what I was doing, the sweat was dripping from my forehead. Inside, outside, eating, drinking, peeing, etc. It was honestly pretty EW, and there was no escaping it, because I was the ew. And from personal experience it is not possible to escape from yourself. I have tried, and it doesn’t work, so don’t waste your time trying.
Today is just as hot, and I don’t know about you, but the effect heat has on me is equivalent to taking five melatonin pills. The energy has been completely sucked out of me, and all I can do is lay here and drink Coca Cola and
complain sweat quiet tears. Coca Cola hasn’t paid me to say that, but money talks, Coca Cola, money talks. I’m in a vulnerable state and I can be bought.
Yesterday, I went to my youngest sister’s birthday. She turned six. My other sister and I gave her a Stacie Doll (for those ignorant to the world of Barbie, Stacie is Barbie’s tween-sister. AND SHAME ON YOU!) who loves to go camping. Well, I can only assume she loves it, because dolls usually feel things very strongly. At least according to the box they come in. She came with a tent, a plaid to keep her warm, a camping chair, a campfire and a stick with a marshmallow ready for some roasting. I know it might be bad taste to compliment your own gift (either way, I often do), but goddamn… I’m so glad we didn’t go for the tandem-bicycle Barbie. I would loved that when I was six… and fourteen.
I loved playing with dolls, and playing in general. I recently talked to a girl who just turned seventeen about how much I miss being younger and being able to play. She said that she hated being little, because there were so many things she didn’t understand, and so many things that didn’t make sense. I personally would give anything to go back to where nothing made sense, because I guess I believe that that is one of the perks about being little. One of the privileges. You will spend the rest of your life worrying about all the bullshit in life, so what’s the hurry? Playing with dolls is acting out fantasizes or scenarios without any consequences. It is part of getting to know yourself and discovering your own boundaries. It is a part of processing what is going on in your own life. I remember exactly how it felt, which is why I can identify so strongly with my little sister’s age. I can’t wait to play with my own future children, and encourage them playing on their own.
Okay. I think I am going to surrender to the heat and take a nap.