B just asked me where I was and I responded with “at the end of my wits.” I meant to say “at the end of my rope” because my wits just never end. But on day four of this power outage, and two weeks into this new city, in this minibooth at Panera bread, I am indeed at the end of my rope. I’ve spent today going from one annoying place to another just to stay away from the sauna that was once known as our apartment. It is now owned by a pack of rotting bananas.
I stopped by today to try the light switches in case we just hadn’t been using them right. I pressed harder. I flipped them up and then down and then tried the “toggle” method I use sometimes when my ipod is f-ed up. Definitely no lights or power or anything that could make a fan or a fly move. So I sat at our little round table and addressed one envelope for something that I had meant to send out on Friday (before THE STORM) and removed the wrapper from one Band-Aid (name brand). Those two activities, plus flipping the light switches in the hallway, had generated so much sweat I had to change my shirt.
Our place is almost exactly human body temperature, but moister. It is like the inside of the Jade Steam Room at The Olympic Spa but without the naked ladies practicing yoga on slabs of therapeutic jade tile. None of that glamour - our windows have been painted shut and I left all of my hand fans at home. I have some great hand fans and I didn’t bring them when I moved to the south. I just wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking then anyway. I’m thinking of a lot of stuff now.
Of course, things could always be worse. I’m just saying I don’t want to test that tiger, ya know.