Summer is here and I don't like it. I spend much of my time inside, which makes me feel sluggish and fat. Outside, however, there is more than I can deal with.
I am oversensitive. The increased sunlight makes my brain chemistry fizz like a baking soda/vinegar volcano. I notice everything. It's as if my peripheral vision has turned up a notch. It's as if my unconscious filters have all shut down in an effort to conserve precious energy in these hottest of times.
Spring, autumn and winter, I read outside. Sometimes for hours a day. In the summer I can't read for the bugs. There are hundreds of bees filtering through the wasted honeysuckle. There's a mosquito buzzing my ear. There's an ant on my foot. Something keeps biting me on the sweaty underside of my knee.
On top of the insect life, there is the vegetation. My yard has more than its share of vines and they are growing so fast that I can see it with my naked eye. Or at least from the corner of my eye.
All the extra light makes me hyper (or manic, depending on what terms we're using, based on how secure I'm feeling regarding my sanity). If I'm alone in the house, I will sing extemporaneous songs with filthy lyrics that I forget a moment later and so start off on a new song, equal in filth and silliness. I borrow the melodies from whatever songs are in my head. Last night it was "Carnival of Sorts" and "Holland 1945."
Strange that both songs have an Athens, GA connection.
I want to pretend to be blind for a day or two, maybe this weekend. Some people are blind their whole lives; I figure two days couldn't hurt.
Then again, that probably won't happen.
Do you ever, for no apparent reason, just wish you could throw a fit, like you were two? For me, it feels like I'm a soda bottle that's been shaken and left unopened. Left outside in the sun, being covered neatly by fast-growing vines and ants.