Suddenly, I Live in a Desert

I walked in a desert.
And I cried,
“Ah, God, take me from this place!”
A voice said, “It is no desert.”
I cried, “Well, But—
The sand, the heat, the vacant horizon.”
A voice said, “It is no desert.”
—Stephen Crane

The above-quoted something circulates in academic circles as a poem. It doesn’t much resemble a poem, but the word of the literary critic is the word of god. What follows from this purported poem, besides that judeo-christian god is mean, is that there is no consensus as to what a desert is. (On an irreligious note, I am aware that I’m supposed to capitalise Judeo-Christian God, except I prefer not to.)

What is this thing, the desert, then? First, what makes a desert desert-ish is its deserted quality. Duh. In other words, the desert is a non-entity in the middle of nowhere where there is no civilisation, vegetation, animation or Wi-Fi. (Again, I am aware that this doesn’t even make sense, but I like it.) I look around—and yep, there’s nothing of substance around here, so check. Furthermore, a quality desert is boiling at day and freezing at night. I feel around—and indeed, these features check, too.

The obvious conclusion is that I live in a fucking desert. (Insert a dramatic pause when I’m waiting for a voice to tell me that this is not a fucking desert. — Nothing. Nevermind.) About deserts, you would have noticed the recent heatwave. Unless you live in an underground nuclear shelter because no one told you that the cold war is over-ish. If that’s the case, stay put, you’re good and cool down there.

I’m mostly glad for global warming. A person has the right to be warm at least a few days in a year and, above all, global warming doesn’t give a shit whether I approve of it or not. So I might just as well approve and have one problem less. This year though, global warming broke its personal record. Before this year’s heatwave, I didn’t live in a desert. And then I woke up like dis and suddenly I did.

Tesco has AC. I don’t

My accustomed and perfectly acceptable indoor temperature at the peak of an average summer heatwave is 86 F (30° C). My preferred indoor temp in any season is 78.8 F (26° C). Lower than that is not consistent with life. This year my room is at 87.8 F (31° C), which doesn’t seem like much difference, but it’s exactly the difference between yeah, okay and nah, too much. I got hot. Not sexy hot but sweaty-ish hot. (Maintaining that a) I’m always sexy hot, b) I don’t sweat, I perspire, and I don’t perspire.)

I got so super hot that I got to sleep on top of the blanket. Even more appalling, in the worst days, I had to sleep sans clothes. It was highly confusing. I hate to sleep uncovered and uncurled and I don’t particularly enjoy waking up and looking at my boob. All weird, creased and crinkled because boobs are affected by gravitation when their owner is lying flat, and it’s not a flattering perspective. Don’t look at your boobs when lying down.

Also, one day I got so hot hot that I went to hang out in Tesco. They have AC. I spent two hours and cooled down very thoroughly because the place was a fucking freezer. Next time I’ll know to bring a coat. Apart from minor frostbite that I incurred, it was a highly enjoyable stroll. I read all the labels on all the products. I bought a thing or two. And then they kicked me out in the oven outside because they were closing. Tomorrow I’m going again. I’m bringing my laptop to set up an office there. You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy.

What Happens on Instagram…

What happens on Instagram doesn’t stay on Instagram. That sounds catchy and cheesy, right? What I mean is that I give you literally what I posted on Instagram last week, continuing in my snap-a-day thingy.

12 March: It’s been raining and the tile on my balcony appears rusty, which is curious, given it’s not even made of metal.

13 March: The skies haven’t fallen yet. Though doom and gloom are constantly impending.

14 March: I lit a candle and it was red and warm and nice.

15 March: Today was the day when I, as every day, made coffee. 

16 March: That’s my cat’s spot. The other day I made the mistake of using the at the moment vacant spot to fold laundry. Bad idea. Now all my laundry is furry.

17 March: Kids are fascinating creatures. They need so little to amuse themselves. These look like Star Wars kids. In the modest conditions of the tenement culture, of course.

18 March: Light, light! I almost loved that, but I don’t have the capacity, obviously.

Weekly Photo Challenge: (More) Pedestrians

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Pedestrian.

Autumn Rain

It’s been raining, raining and raining, on and on and on. You get the idea. In case you can’t imagine it, here’s visual documentation. I’d never go out but I needed to replenish my Oreos supplies (they lasted exactly one day). *shrug*

That’s a lot of green

That’s how I found out my boots were not waterproof

Smurfs have been here

Glittery and slippery

Did someone lose a leaf?

Almost cute raindrops

Weekly Photo Challenge: Pedestrian

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Pedestrian.

I carry my umbrella like a fierce shield bearer. I’ll pierce you with its spike when it comes to it.

 

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Windows

In response to WP Weekly Photo Challenge: Windows.

 

Still falls the Rain—

Dark as the world of man, black as our loss—

—Edith Sitwell

You Need to Know What I’ve Been Up To

I’m so kidding. First, you naturally don’t need to know what I’ve been up to, and second, I haven’t even been up to anything in particular. The following uneventful events have happened:

• I can now break down an AR45. This is ironic because I’m pacifist. I learned this very dubious skill when translating a manual on how to disassemble an AR45. Of course, in an ideal world, I’d never be translating this because I don’t have a clue about the subject. Also, in an ideal world, I’d reject this job on moral grounds. In the real world, though, my bills don’t give a shit about my high moral ground. Shoot me.
• I’ve been freezing my ass off. Literally. I probably shouldn’t wear thongs in winter. I don’t mean flip flops. But I want to have nice panties in case of my sudden decease. I’ve already drafted a parting note saying, I told you so. I’ve set up a heater next to my heater (see picture) and keep both at full blast. The mounted heater on the wall isn’t heating, bastard, because it’s probably broken and I’m too anxious to call service. Serve me right.

Double heating

• I can’t remember when I last left the flat. I haven’t been out forever. Partly because of anxiety (when in doubt, blame it on anxiety) and partly because of the fucking freezing rainy weather. I’ve crafted a voodoo doll of the weatherman and use it as a pincushion. The weather forecast keeps on forecasting mayhem for in(de)finitely.
• I’ve been getting high on sleeping pills. A sleeping pill is probably not your first go-to option for getting high. It works wondrously for me though. I carelessly took the pill before my evening bathroom routine instead of after, and while I was swaying around so I could hardly find the bed, I had such a great laugh. Don’t ask me what I was laughing at. Probably myself. I’m hilarious, right?