You ever walk through soup? Not metaphorically. I mean real, breathable soup. That was me today on my way home. Dragging my legs like they were filled with lead and regret through the thickest, heaviest air this side of a pressure cooker.
The kind of air that slaps you in the face and then hugs you with wet arms. The kind of air that makes you question not just your outfit, but your life decisions. And yet… I persisted. Because I had to get home. Because teleportation is still not a thing. And because no one’s handing out ice-cold limonatas on the train platform.
I stood there, blinking slowly, trying not to move too much lest I melt. And then they came. The gnats. Oh yes, the gnatty gnats. Irritating little specks of chaos, dive-bombing my face with zero remorse, like they owned the platform. They seemed to sense my weakness. My limbs were itchy, my arms were hiving, and my patience was fried like a street cart empanada.
Thankfully, I had the foresight, nay, the genius, to wear my hair up today. Off to the side, in a little flourish of summer practicality meets accidental cuteness. That hair decision? MVP of the day. It spared me from neck sweat, which as we all know, is the gateway drug to full-body misery.
I didn’t bring any water. And before you ask why, let me stop you right there. I don’t like water. Never have. It’s a personal protest. Water’s done nothing for me except make me pee more. I don’t need hydration when I have caffeine and indignation.
This heat is not just unbearable. It’s personal. I think summer has a vendetta against me. Or maybe it’s just mad that I’m still wearing black jeans like it’s April. Actually, I don’t wear jeans. I just thought it was a cool thing to say. Pun intended. Either way, I’m tired. Tired of sticky thighs, rogue bugs, and being told to drink cucumber-infused water as if that’s salvation.
So if you see me tomorrow with a portable fan necklace, bug spray earrings, and a jug of iced coffee strapped to my back like a camel, mind your business. Just know I’m out here trying. And if my legs still feel like sandbags, I’ll gnat my way through it.
Categories: Culture, current events, Fitness, food, Health, identity, Psychology, The Seasons
psychologistmimi 
Oh Dear Lord Memories
of Dressing Up Like a Real
Working Member of Society
For Pay So Much Hotter Dear
Miriam Than T-Shirts and Shorts
Yes All of my Wardrobe Not even
Owning a Pair of Long Pants anymore
Oh Lord Long Hot Hour Long Commutes
in Thick Humid Gulf Air Making 11 Hour Workdays
A Reality Only getting Paid for 8 Of Course Sticky Sweaty
Yes Hot and Bothered
With Legs Heavy
Most Always
Coming From
A Lack of Sleep
Leaving Not Enough
Move and Repose for
Rest and Recovery Indeed
Slippery Slope Someone Help me
Back Up Yet Only me to Survive then Just
to Survive then Oh Oh
For So Long So Long
of What Was Once A
Comfort Inn of Body
It’s True on Top of that
in that State of Being
Tiny Gnats Will Come
To Be A Thousand Paper
Cuts for Every one that Lights
on Our Face Reminding Us of
How Heavy Legs Will Drudge along
With Never
Enough Sleep
To Catch Back up
to the Rat Race Treadmill
Around And Around Prisoner
To the Gnats Who Come to Rule Our Life
Such
Brats
Such Brats
Gnats Will
Come to Be
Hmm Particularly
the Human Ones hehe..:)
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