In The Summertime.

Living on the redwood coast is swiftly changing the way I view summer.

Having lived in California my whole life I know exactly what summer should be.  In places like Santa Cruz (where I’ve actually spent summers) and San Diego it’s sunny and 75 degrees every day, though Santa Cruz does have fog earlier in the day.  In places like Sacramento and L.A. it’s 100 degrees and sunny all day.  In Central California it’s 110 and sunny.  Santa Rosa was more like 90 degrees. 

In short, most places it’s hot and bright.

Except here.

It’s spotty fog all morning.  Then sunny around one PM with fog that hangs over the water like I do chocolate cake or Yoshi when we’re in a crowded place.

Then fog on and off the rest of the day. 

Sometimes it unexpectedly lifts from the water, sometimes it doesn’t.  Sometimes it rains.  In the summer.

I know.

I was surprised, too.

And above everything else, it’s still 65 degrees.

I’m wearing a sweatshirt and socks as I type this and I’m considering closing the window because I’m too chilly.

This is the first summer ever that I’m contemplating hot tubs instead of swimming pools.  In fact, my mom just got a swimming pool and I’m thinking about setting up my hot tub so I have somewhere warm to go.

Yesterday I washed all of our bedclothes, plus some that were in storage since the move here.  I decided to swap our heavy winter comforter with the quilt I liked to use in Santa Rosa.  We had a sheet, a light blanket, and the quilt, plus our own individual afghans, and I woke up cold.

My body is so confused.

I can’t remember what month it is.

There’s no way in hell it’s July.

Yet, if I drive into the mountains (into the mountains!  It should be colder there!) for 20 minutes I will definitely remember it’s summer because I will be too hot immediately.

So the difference between summer and winter here has nothing to do with temperature and that’s a weird adjustment to have to make.

Winter means more damp and more rain.  Sometimes it will be 55 instead of 65, sometimes the sun will shine and it will be 65 again.  Albeit a damp 65.

Summer means it’s sunny eventually, though there may be mist or light rain later at night or early in the morning.  It’s actually quite romantic in a Bronte sort of way.  The hotter it is inland the more fog there is here on the coast and the less I can see the water from my kitchen, which is annoying since watching the barges and sailboats is how I pass the time while doing dishes.

All in all, I’d rather it be cooler than hotter, so I guess this is ideal.  I’m just still not acclimatized.

Also, I have the worst allergies I’ve ever had in my life. 

In July.

Which is totally normal.

I guess.

Definite Conclusion.

It's really fucking hot outside.

I don't even know how many times I've said that in the past few days. 

I have come to a conclusion based on this fact.  And the fact that I feel weird stalking my friend's parents' house after he goes home in a week.

I need a pool. 

I had forgotten how awesome it is to have one at my disposal. 

It's great for a variety of reasons.  Like, it's cool when it's really hot outside.  And when my friends are hanging out talking in the deep end and I want to face them and talk to them simultaneously, I will tread water for-fucking-ever.  Seriously.

It's like jogging.  But with more resistance.  And it's easier on your joints.  So, way better.

Yet I can do it for longer than jogging.  Explain that one.

What you should take away from this is that I need a pool.  Or a new friend with a pool that wants me to come hang out for like an hour every night.

Do you have a pool?

How 'Bout This Weather?

I’ve been on a Kings of Leon and Blue October kick of late.

I think the weather is bringing me down.

It’s June.  I should be wearing sundresses and sandals, right?

No.

I’m wearing jeans and long-sleeved shirts. 

Plus, my anxiety is reaching an all-time high (which is really saying something).  Friday I was so anxious that I thought maybe the weather was making me depressed.  Then I realized I don’t feel depressed (I can tell because it’s a sensation I am far too familiar with).  I’m generally really happy.  I just can’t catch my breath and sometimes want to cry for no reason at all. 

This means that I have to go to the doctor soon-ish.  So I can (once again) get hopped up on anti-anxiety meds. 

And I have to go to the lady doctor this month so she can deal with my birth control situation.

Birth control blows.  (I feel like I've said that before...)

But not being on it increases my anxiety.  Not because I’m having sex, but because I never remember to write down when my last period was, so I freak out that it’s late because I’m afraid that somehow rogue sperm from God-knows-where may have randomly just up and wandered into my vagina. 

Even when it’s not late; I just have no idea when I last had my period.

Yes.  I am that crazy.

The problem is that I never have good results from my birth control anymore.  The pills make me sick, crazy, gain weight, and/or they make my boobs bigger.  Which is definitely NOT something I want from my birth control.  I already have enough trouble finding bras in my size that I actually like. 

I guess I could just make one appointment.

Because if I drink Jack Daniels to curb my anxiety, birth control is obviously more important.