It's really, really hot.
St. Louis is in the middle of a heat advisory, and I've used that as a excuse to not feel so bad when I don't take Thunder on a walk in the mornings.
It's not just the heat. Being St. Louis, it's the humidity. It makes for a disgusting, oppressive stew that sucks the will to live from you in the time it takes to walk from the parking lot into a building. My hair doesn't stand a chance unless I wear it up, which I have been for probably a week straight, in a variety of experimental updos.
In spite of the heat, I haven't stayed home nearly as much as I imagined I would. Usually, my summers are spent daydreaming about lounging in front of a fan with the air conditioning turned up. But this summer? This summer I've barely been home long enough to do much lounging at all.
Obviously, I have to leave the house for work. During the week, this means a short drive to and from the office and day spent in blissful air conditioning. But when I work on the weekends, manual labor and sweating outside is involved, at least to load and unload a vehicle.
But I've also ventured out in the heat to sweat on my own free will and for, allegedly, enjoyment.
On Saturday, I was up and suggesting brunch to Alexis by 9:30. That night, Mark and I went to the Muny to see Young Frankenstein from the free seats with his daughter and niece.
On Monday (my day off), I invited myself along to the Science Center to hang out with Casey and her two kids (after Audrey, my biggest fan, expressed her disappointment that I wouldn't see her pigtails), and still managed to go grocery shopping and make dinner.
Tonight we're going out to eat with Mark's sister.
And, somehow, we still might go to the Muny this upcoming weekend, if the heat breaks enough. And are having dinner at my parents' on Monday.
I feel like ever since I started getting divorced, my life went into overdrive. Before, time seemed to drag out into the all-too-certain future. I knew what to expect from each day, each week. And now, when I have no idea what will happen next? Time flies. I'm still trying to figure out what to make for dinner three Mondays ago and, for all I know, tomorrow is Christmas.
I don't know how it got to be July. I don't even know how it's already 5:00 on a Wednesday again.
All I know is that time spent with Mark goes far too quickly. We never seem to have enough time together, even when we spend three solid weeks in each other's company. We've been together for three years now, and yet it can't possibly have been that long. Or that short. Something strange happens to time with us, something as hazy as heat coming off asphalt.
And something strange has happened to me, in that I've become something resembling "good with kids." For being the girl who never wanted kids and was never comfortable around them, I spend an awful lot of time hanging around them lately, and all of it by choice.
As I mentioned, it's been a very kid-centric weekend, and it doesn't feel uncomfortable or strange to be the one waiting for a five year old to go to the bathroom so I can help her wash her hands, or to put her shoes on, or to carry a toddler to the car when she's sad about leaving the Science Center. What's strange is that it all feels... normal.
It could be the heat wave, but I don't really mind being a stepmom-in-training, or spending my days off with little kids. In fact, I usually end up enjoying it.
Definitely the heat wave.