Tonight is one of those nights where the air is so thick that just breathing feels like a chore. The air is hazy with it, and my glasses fog up just leaving the house. The flowers, no matter how much I water them, look as if they want to pick up their beautiful petticoats and say, "Well! If I'd realized it was going to be this kind of party, I never would have come at all." This weather might be appropriate if I were on a tropical vacation, or sunning myself on the beach. For everyday life, it seems a bit excessive.
I turn an alarming shade of pink in this weather. I don't have to exert myself; it just happens. I develop a white ring around my eyes and mouth and everything else progresses from pink to an angry purple the longer I stay out. My neighbor came over this afternoon and very kindly sawed down some branches that were beginning to shade out my garden, and it wasn't until after he left that I realized I must have looked as if I were about to explode.
I've spent the better part of this evening putting songs into my iPod. I have 1990 songs now, which seems an auspicious number. The iPod agrees with my need to collect, categorize and revel in everything I own, as if someone could go through it and say, Ah. Now that is Meg. I'd know her anywhere.