Every time someone uses the expression "under the weather" to indicate they've been sick, it always reminds me that the only earth-bound creatures who are not -- constantly -- under the weather are astronauts.
Just a thought.
There's been much ado in Boogieland, but first and foremost, I've got a good reason for my lengthy, otherwise-unexcused absence. First, I was feeling shitty -- perhaps a touch of dehydration or some stomach issue in general -- so I got to visit the hospital for a quick exploratory adventure plus observation last week. It wasn't awful, except for the fact that it coincided with Kaia being here, so she had a free pass for a day (and a night) at Boogieland. Despite the fact that there's enough media and electronic stimuli therein to occupy a normal person's focus for, say, a decade or two, I felt badly being away from her as much as she did me.
On top of that, I -- like everyone else in this City -- have felt the effects of the sudden temperature change. Essentially the mercury went from a balmy 80-ish to a repulsive 98-ish without warning for a four-day span, which hopefully ended last night with a mongo-huge thunderstorm. However, I'll know once I hit the pavement whether that's true or merely wishful thinking. In either case, the A/C unit's going full-blast at 14,000 BTU's of icy airy goodness, and it's keeping us both sane and cool.
Speaking of sane and cool, this past week we saw a bunch of apartments, most of which had real possibility. The problem isn't the $2800 for a one-bedroom; nor is it the fact that some of the places we've seen are in neighborhoods spicier than your Mexican friend Juan's Uncle Chimichanga's Jabanero Gargling Sauce. No, the problem is that the apartments we've seen, largely speaking, have been unoccupied and, therefore, have no air conditioning. And since we've insisted on seeing apartments with only new (aka energy-efficient) windows, that means the hot stays hot and the cool stays cool. Only in this 98-degree scenario, the apartments feel like they're running at, say, 120. Add to that the smell of paint, lacquer, tile grout and the other acoutrement construction guys use to take an old place and make it new again and you've got a recipe for feh.
In either case, we've been happily managing. I've been carving through piles of work -- both in the office and outside, both day and night -- and Kaia's been doing the same (albeit without the need for office visitation). We're both pretty mellow and moving toward our schedules, which are increasingly intertwined. The nice part is that, even with lessened external running around, we're happy spending time together and haven't found the need to want to throw the other out a window. None of that's a surprise to either of us, but it's amazing to know the lock-and-key groove we've managed to develop over four years just keeps on getting better and better. We know where we're heading and inasmuch as there are plenty of people who despise marriage and the modern aspects thereof, whatever it is we're doing and wherever it is we're heading seems fine by me.
Put another way: since I was forced to stop drinking Diet Coke for the past few days, I would have expected I'd be bouncing off the walls and taking it out on her. The fact that she hasn't, in response, hit me in the head with a frying pan says a lot.
...Although I did happen to notice one of the pans hanging in the kitchen has conspicuously gone missing. I'll just assume that she put it away after she cleaned it.
...And sleep with one eye open.
I'll be back soon...hopefully.