Tiny beads of sweat perch on my upper lip and hover at my hairline. My eyelids are heavy with moist weight; back, sticky against desk chair and no matter how still I sit, only my fingers moving as I type, heat rises in slow waves from my entire body. And. The air is on. I hear you wondering why I don't just turn the air up (or is it down?)? That would be 1) cost, and 2) noise. Our romantic, idyllic loft is an industrial space of tile and steel - no where to hide ducting carrying the arctic breeze and thus no damping of the 747 compressor and blower. A small thing in the winter, barely am I able to recollect the annoying assault on my ears in July.
Barely the beginning of summer in the south, and my summer in the south will be exaggerated by three weeks in Malaysia in July/Aug. More water. Water to drink. Water to swim in. Or just float in. More water as quarts of it are shedded from every pore. What in the world is this Germanic Yankee doing living and traveling in the tropical wonders?
Have you ever leafed through travel mags, lusting after luscious fruits and deep shade of jungle canopy? Ha! It all looks so lazy, so sweetly redolent with gardenia and salt water - so....so...untroubled. Well. Yes. Untroubled. And also unproductive. Life in the hammock (substitute pool, swing, couch, boat to fit your lazy summer days) - life in the hammock, and I use "hammock" metaphorically here since we don't own a hammock either here or in Malaysia - life in the hammock is drugily (I know, I know - it's not a word) addictive. The heat, tempered by the slight breeze as one foot pushes just enough to keep the swinging motion going, and the smells (fill in gardenias, mangoes, tropical vegetation, or, ripe peaches, hamburgers on the grill, salt water on the skin, roses heavily ripe with scent...) is a plot to sabotage every creative thought one ever had or ever will have again. Creatively, I shift off to a less sweaty position and wonder if the watermelon is cold yet.
Hope you're having a lazy summer afternoon, untroubled, in a naturally induced druggy summer sleep. A mere ten degree drop will revive us all and then the paints will fly!