July 11, 2012
It was bound to happen. I’ve got nothing this week. It was 100 degrees and Charlotte had a nasty earache, so we postponed our plans to spend the weekend in New Haven. I can’t think of anything profound—or even mildly interesting—to say about a weekend spent worrying about air conditioning. It was like being back in Dallas, I guess.
So, I’m taking a mulligan. I feel guilty about it, I’ve taken a lot of pride in having the discipline to write something substantial every week. But I’d rather say nothing than something dumb.
There’s one tiny detail I can think of from this weekend that I might want to remember ten years from now. It’s this:
During this tenacious heat wave, Charlotte’s been sleeping in our bed because she hasn’t been feeling well. I’ve been sleeping on the floor in the living room under the air conditioner: it’s coolest there, plus I won’t get kicked in the soft stuff by a sick toddler in a crowded bed. The drone of the air conditioner puts me to sleep reliably, and I will confess to a small amount of pleasure in waking up chilly each morning, in defiance of nature’s attempted broasting.
More next week.