Each Spring the epic battle ensues. It is a climatic war waged in the rustling recesses of the night, brought on through a dogged determinism NOT TO TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONER.
Maybe you do this too?
Those first few warm days, you rejoice in the sunshine, glorying in the pinkness of your skin. The beauteous days cause your soul to bloom, and you smile and hold your hands out refreshed by the end of a cold, dark winter.
And then night cometh.
You sprawl there awake tossing and turning and sweating, but refusing—downright refusing—to turn on the air. The ceiling fan pushes around the hellish air, and you sit up in bed in a volcanic rage.
The worst part of this horrid wakefulness? Your delicately snoozing spouse beside you. How do they slumber in such a womb-like atmosphere? Do they not fear suffocation, dehydration, meltification (the melting away in one’s sleep—a very clinical term)?
This is my nightmare, and it is one I will live in until June conquers my stubbornness and has me stagger to the thermostat and overcompensate by setting it at about 54 degrees—this is typically where my annual summer cold comes from.
But until that precious day, when I decide a good night’s sleep is worth however many pennies it would cost to set my thermostat to ‘temperate’ overnight, I will be locked in this state.
A state in which the bags under my eyes could sufficiently hold a mouthful of jelly beans.
A red-eyed state that has college kids approach me and ask me if I know where they can “score some drugs.”
A state that has me sipping NyQuil cocktails at 7 pm in preparation, and guzzling coffee at 5 AM when the heat forces me up.
A state that has me shuffling about the house in the still-small hours, trying to create airflow through open windows and fill socks with ice and converting them to jewelry by tying them to my wrists and neck—a seasonal fashion statement that is all the rage.
It is a cruel, sleepless state that makes me dream of winter winds tucking me in beneath a pile of cozy covers.
But, tough as it is, I will not acquiesce. I will not give the utility overlords one dang spring AC cent. I will fan myself; I will take cold showers. I will disrobe and lie on the semi-cool tile and shake my sweating fist in the air at the Ameren gods of refreshment.
And with that, I will not sleep.
We all have our battles, and this, cruel world, is mine. Sweet dreams to you and yours, and if you need me, well, I’ll be up.