A few weeks ago, fed up with the record-breaking snow and frigid temperatures (made that much more enjoyable by the lack of heat in our apartment), I decided I wanted to skip Spring.
At that point, most people were huddled around the idea, the myth of weather that was above freezing and didn’t involve mass amounts of stuff coming down from the sky. They wanted nothing more than a few days in the high 40s, some sunshine to peak through the clouds.
But I wasn’t having it. I wanted summer, stat. Sweltering heat, air conditioners that drip questionable liquids on you when you walk on the sidewalks, sweaty people on my regional rail line – I decided I would take all of it. I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to be cold anymore.
All of this is a really long way of saying: I’m pretty sure this record heat wave we’re having right now is my fault. Or it’s global warming. Take your pick, but be prepared to swear your allegiances to either the weathermen or the climatologists accordingly. (It’s all very West Side story, Jets versus Sharks, right?)
If this is my fault, I can’t say I actually regret it. Yeah, it’s a little toasty in our fourth floor apartment, especially sans our window air conditioner units.
But I had the most enjoyable, normal day today, maybe the best I’ve had since moving here. I finally made it to the new gym I’d been avoiding like the plague, cooked a real dinner and felt generous enough to spring for Dave’s favorite ice cream (birthday cake flavored) at the grocery store, even though I think it’s almost as gross as the nerd blizzards Bridget gets at DQ.
The weather also bred a few photography epiphanies. Who knew all it would take was a dire need to crank up the fans to finally get me to understand shutter speed?
If all of this is to say that heat waves elicit good moods, good food and photographic genius, then by all means, bring on the climate change.