The day is beautiful. There must be something redeeming in that statement but I’m afraid that means nothing while I’m sitting here inside. I did a bunch of bitching when the weather was no so great. Last winter was either ice or snow for the most part. Technically we are still in spring, but it’s a lot more like summer out there and I’m here at home, only stepping outside to have a smoke. The weather is beautiful. No rain. No hail. The few clouds in the sky are afraid to even show themselves on a day like today. Only the most brave and puffy are lingering in the spring fresh air.
Most of you are probably screaming through the monitor to get my butt from this house and get some sun. I have the option of going to a pool for Chrissakes, but I’m still here typing. Don’t get me wrong, I love the beautiful weather. There something so simple as to get into my car and not have to worry about whether I will have to have a cover on my skin, or even have to trudge through feet of snow, dig out my car, and pray I don’t become the a tree’s worst nightmare, sliding out of control on ice. Maybe it’s too beautiful. Yeah, I’ve set it. With a week of rain coming up in the forecast, I need to take advantage of this perfect day, or living with the Noah effect will make it all the more precious.
I’ve thought about it. I really need to get out of here. But here is my dilemma, what am I going to do? With all these options what could I do? What would I want to do? If I lived in Key West, I know what to do, go to the beach. What else would you do? Here in mostly landlocked Pennsylvania there really isn’t much to do. I don’t want to spend money, for what? Sun? Most of the time it’s free, assuming there is enough sunscreen on you that you don’t wind up paying for it in the end. I know that is just my negativity talking, but there is something to be said for stage 3 melanoma to ruin a guy’s day.
Sun has always been a component of my family; picnics, outside parties, etc. It was the great gatherer; start the grill and they will come. Hot and sweaty sizzling under the great orange ball in the sky was part of every childhood summer. There was always a weekend holiday party to be present at. Meeting the relatives. Chowing down on food, going home, and lying in bed realizing kind of what it was like to feel like a lobster in a pot of boiling water. I look back fondly, although at the time I was wonder what the fuck did I do to deserve all this itchy peeling skin in places I didn’t know I had. If I wanted peeling skin, I could have avoided the sun and put rubber cement or Elmer’s glue on, wait for it to dry and then peel it off. NO PAIN!
Cars are whizzing by, I can see though my window. Trees are all green and smiling, are caressing the gentle breeze. Joggers run up and down the hill next to me. Squirrels jump and frolic in the high dandelioned grass, playing tag. A bird just bumped my window. Mosquitos are even on the job, sucking blood from unsuspecting naked arms and legs. This could be a great memory. I could be lying in bed later in the week, unable to get up because of the drearies brought on by the copious amounts of rain thinking of this time, when once I decided to step from the safety of my apartment, to bask in the rays of the great life giver in the sky. I could, or I could just watch more television.