I’ve just come out of the worst weekend all summer. Just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any hotter, it did. Not a breeze blew all weekend, not a single leaf shook, everything was just still and dead. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any sultrier, it did. And I just sat at home, in all my hormonal, menstrual splendour, wishing I was dead. Even that seemed like a better idea that feeling like an overgrown pig, sweating buckets just from sitting under a goddamned fan all day. Which incidentally did nothing but circulate a column of hot air. Yes, it was that kind of hot day. Everything was as hot and as sweaty as it could get. The humidity was through the roof. And in my home that’s a scalding hot, top-floor, west-facing roof.
Looking out was like watching one of those scary time lapse shots of deserted lands, deathly silent with no breeze and everything is cooking to a nice brown crisp right before your eyes. So yes, miserable, it was. I couldn’t do anything I had planned. I didn’t read, I didn’t work. I didn’t pay my home any attention. I didn’t even cook. I didn’t want to move. All I did was step out only for meals, return back to sweaty self, drink gallons of iced water, coke and fresh lime. And wish the world would end.
On Sunday night, I hit saturation, somewhere around the time I was contemplating the third shower for the day. I cursed the weather gods for making us suffer, I cursed humanity for letting global warming get so bad, I cursed the stupid top floor flat, I cursed it all, for turning my home into a hot air wind tunnel (minus the wind, of course. It was just hot air. Period.) The husband too felt the same. Brow and upper lip constantly dotted with sweat, running in and out of chores, work and general don’t-know-what-to-do-ness and watching me mope and moan about my cramps, he hasn’t had the best weekend either. So we decided to just give up and call it a day and hope that the week ahead had something better in store. And so the air con was set to 16 degrees and we went to bed feeling entirely grouchy about an effed up, wasted weekend.
But by God someone was listening. Because this morning, like some miraculous answer to all my
prayers cussing and cursing, we woke up to rain. Loverrly, light, pitter patter rain. When you have reached the heights of heat your body can handle, a sight like that can make you want to scream for joy. Yes, really. Okay, not. Maybe that was just my hormones talking, but you get my drift.
It’s just the beginning people. And like last year, after the first rain has fallen, the wind continues to charm, the sun shines ever so gently and the clouds go bonkers. June skies are the bluest of blue and the clouds get wispy, cottony and full, making me want to reach out and touch the sky. Making me feel like a happy baby, basically.
So ladies and gentlemen, I give you the dance of the clouds, 2012.
I wish I had taken pictures yesterday to do a before/after show you just how gorgeous today is, and how drastically unlike yesterday it is. But you’ll just have to take my word for it. After the rain has fallen, everything miraculously gets this crystal clear, picture perfect view. And I can’t help but feel optimistic, happy and just, you know, sunshiney.