Rambling Right Along

Walking upstairs in my house right now feels like putting on a foam bodysuit made of electric blanket - it starts at your head, and engulfs more of you with each step you take up the stairs.  The heat, the thickness and the dry smell of it, it fills every place that isn't touching something else - the gap between my breasts and the bodice of the dress I'm wearing, the space between my torso and inner arm about midway between my shoulders and my elbows (because my upper arms are fat and glide along nice and snug next to the fabric of my dress), then the rest of my arms, the spaces between my cupped fingers and the palms of my hands, my hips, my bare legs, and then up between my thighs and my skirt.  Even my toes can feel the resistance.

But then!  But then I turn the corner in the hallway, pass the shrine of photographs from D.C. with which I've adorned the passageway, and move the heavy curtain of fabric Jimi rigged up to act as a barrier between the oppressive heat and the light, breathable air of the window-air-conditioned nook where we spend our non-sleeping/showering/cooking time.  And then that coat of hot that's enveloped me, it falls off from the front to the back, and maybe I might stand there for a moment or two, feeling the mixing of the seasons, the whoosh of hot and cold across my skin, raising the hairs on my neck and making my nipples hard, before I swish the curtain back closed, making sure there are no gaps for the precious expensive electrically cooled air to escape into the sucking heat of the hallway and stairwell.

(The entire downstairs has central air, but the fucking raccoon that lives in our attic has wreaked havoc on the ductwork upstairs.  We spent thousands last summer trying to cool these rooms using the separate HVAC system up here - only to learn that the cool air was being pumped directly into the crawl spaces of the attic, rather than through the vents that fed the liveable rooms.  Our solution has been to ignore the ductwork, turn off the upstairs AC, install the window unit that came with the house and hang a curtain to keep in the cold air.  Or we could've left the TV downstairs.  But there's an electrical issue down there and I have a lot of knicknacks in the other room down there so DON'T BE LOGICAL WITH ME!!!)

I like our little nook up here.  It's cozy and warm when the outside is cold, and thanks to that window unit, it's comfortably cool when the weather's warm.

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I've got the Mormon fascination kickin' again, brought on after conversations with an old new friend who's left the church, the release of the cast recording of The Book of Mormon, and a long conversation with my boss about Kolob and food storage.  I just love Mormons.

I've been trying to listen to the cast recording for two days now, but I've been foiled by life - visits from friends on Monday and a fight with my beloved last night.  (The fight only lasted a few minutes, but I was an asshole and in attempt to make up for it I agreed to watch a movie with him, which meant giving up the computer for the night because our blu-ray player is jacked up so movies can only be instantly watched by connecting the laptop to the TV.  Have I mentioned how I have a hard time paying attention to any one thing for an extended amount of time?  Fortunately, the movie didn't suck and cuddling with Jimi is always good.)  Tonight was going to be the night I got past 12 minutes 35 seconds, I was determined - after all, I only needed an hour and eight minutes total.

I got home from work, popped open a beer, opened the browser and hit the play button.  Then I got distracted by shiny emails and facebook messages and Jimi coming home from work; I'd made it eighteen minutes into the production.  Jimi wasn't interested in listening along with me, so I dug out the earbuds.  Then I remembered the facebook post I read earlier today talking about how sitting is killing us and decided I may as well use the treadmill while I listen.  I moved the laptop to the basement, staged on the ironing board and an old rubbermaid tote so the short cord on the earbuds wouldn't tangle and pull the whole works onto the concrete floor.  I went upstairs and dug out some shorty socks and stripped out of my work clothes.  I put on the socks and my running shoes...and Jimi said "you should just walk naked" and since I was already naked I decided that's what I'd do.  And so I did.  I walked and jogged, naked, on my treadmill for half an hour, listening to the raunchy South Park-esque "The Book of Mormon", drinking a can of Bud Light between exercises with my two-pound hand weights.

Notice how I only walked for half an hour?  And how I said earlier the musical is an hour and 8 minutes?  The treadmill died - the surge protector popped and my feet came to a stop while the rest of me kept moving.  I think maybe it's done this once before, and  I hope it's temporary.   I think it'll be fine, and on that assumption I'm planning to get up at 6 a.m. to walk and listen to the other half of the story.  I'll get through this tale, dammit, I will!

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 Jimi said last night that there are two of me, Natalie and Bratalie.  The bitch of it is, he wasn't wrong.  I hate it when I have to admit that I've acted like a spoiled child, or worse, an asshole.

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It's a lot easier to write when the TV's not on.