Confession: I Turned On The Central Air

… In 76-degree weather.

I’m not proud of it. Here I sit, scrounging for deals, meal-planning, coupon-cutting… all to turn on the central air on a less than impressively hot day. The thermostat reads 75 degrees inside the house.

This would be a good place to insert one of those mouth-cocked smileys you see all over the internet. :/

But, there is good reason. I am in a mood. A cranky, crankieness that only a drop in humidity and cooler temperature can fix. I think. I couldn’t figure it out yesterday, but it started to dawn on me today. Admittedly, I have a lot going on. Kids off of school, parents retiring and moving this week, old boss leaving and new boss coming this week, sending a kid off to overnight camps (separation anxiety for me – don’t laugh–or puke, packing, thinking, preparing, etc.). I’m at capacity. Add warm and sticky to that list and I’m… well. I’m a monster.

I can’t sleep when I’m warm. I don’t like it when my sheets feel swampy wet. I need sleep.

I can’t clean. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I can’t cook. I can’t read. I woke a dozen times last night. This morning I got up, mopped down the bathroom floor (the bathroom feels disgusting when it is humid), cleaned the toilet, tried to do some work, became overwhelmed, took a shower, began sweating, began loathing my house, cursing dust, confusion, circle-turning not knowing what to tackle first.

Noticed the discomfort of my own skin. I couldn’t cool down. Distinctly felt like there was something I needed. Something. But what?

Relief. Comfort. The ability to think straight and get some things done to relieve the oppression of an arm-long To Do list.

It is worth it. If my productivity is zilch and I’m a whiny puddle and turning on my central air will help — I need to just bite it and do it.

And I did. My sweat is drying already.


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