AN EVEN HEAT

As you probably expected, it got too hot for a few days, during which people said things like "I think I'll go outside it's so lovely", "well, winter looks to finally be over", and "I am from Detroit". To all of which my mental reaction was a snarl. But I hid it extremely well.
In hot weather my legs hurt. So a pox on everyone who likes sunny days.
The ideal climate is slightly too cold for comfort.
Just above Raynaud's syndrome.


Naturally I made sure to stay hydrated. Lots of tea. Much like when I'm freezing my goolies off in the arctic temperatures of winter, except then I claim it's to stay warm and alert, rather than curling up on the snowdrift and hibernating. In the frozen hinterland of Marin County, where there are polar bears and snow weasels for five months of the year.
Because of which I sent angry letters to the editor!
Bellyaching is its own reward.

[Please note: very minor exaggeration for poetic effect.]

Seeing as I live in San Francisco, I am looking forward to summer.
Three solid months of fog. Perfect for taking walks.

My cardiologist has impressed upon me that circulation in my lower extremities can only get worse, I'll need peripheral angioplasties eventually, which will solve a multitude of problems which I don't even know I have my heavens I will say why didn't I do this sooner and life will be good again! Hosanna!

I am determined to prove him wrong. Wherefore I am exercising a bit more, increasing the number of slope up and down of which I tromp every week, so that when I do the treadmill thing the next time I see him I will ace the test and astound him.


Aside from being idiotically stubborn, which is typically Dutch of me, I don't want another overnight stay in the hospital. Five years ago, when I woke up at nine in the evening there, there was a dreary moaning from the next room. It was allegedly an in and out procedure, but they had put me under to keep me from twitching, so they kept me overnight. I switched on the animal channel and watched hyenas hunting down a fat zebra for dinner. When they made the kill, there was a dreary moaning from nextdoor. Two hours later, lions were fighting the hyenas over the kill. Blood everywhere. And dreary moaning. At four in the morning the hyenas were finally enjoying a well deserved feast. With dreary moaning. Then, when finally a nurse came by with coffee just after six, the vultures were circling over the remains, and there was a dreary moaning.

So I asked: "what's going on next door?"
"Oh that's just a demented woman, there's nothing wrong with her."
"Why is she moaning?"
"She's upset about her surroundings."

When they suggested that if I wasn't up to it, they could keep me over for an extra day, I was up, dressed, and out of there in a flash. Downstairs getting into a taxi before they could blink.


If all that was wrong with that woman was dismay over her surroundings, she's probably still alive, and still there.


Within several weeks I shall have enough stamina to hike across the hill with no problems. Grit. Determination. Orneriness. No sweat, no heavy breathing, a pipe in my mouth.
Key is keeping an even burn in the bowl, no excess heat.
On the cusp of going out, but staying lit.



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