Goosebumps
So this morning, I dragged my miserably sticky, under rested ass out of bed, looked at the thermometer by the desk and groaned. Another night where it never got below about 82°F (27°C) in the apartment—no doubt due to an unventilated attic storing all the heat.
I had hoped for better considering it was supposed to have gotten below 70 outside and I’d left all the fans in the windows, and set for annoyingly loud. Then I stepped outside on the fire escape for a smoke.
And promptly got goosebumps. Nearly shivered.
Morning nicotine dosage met, I popped back inside to check the weather. It was 73. Gad, goosebumps at 73. My body really adjusts to the heat well.
Humidity, however, is a different story. That has really had me down the past few days. Sleep, when it’s come, has merely been a series of catnaps punctuated by intervals of untangling myself from sweaty sheets, then trying to find a dry spot on the bed.
As a result, days have been filled with sticky lethargy, not unlike that I experience during my winter depression, but without the sinking spirits. Not fully rested, I havne’t been able to comprehend reading—even my favorite fan fiction sites—let alone think through anything for work.
Still, the humidity seemed to break this morning. Although the mercury rose to to upper 80s, it felt cool and refreshing all day. Overnight, it’s forecast to drop into the lower 60s and upper 50s these next few nights.
I’ve changed the bed again and shall rejoice in an early bedtime in clean, unsticky, unsalty sheets.
And I look forward to goosebumps in the morning.
