I’m usually the loudest when it comes to spreading the gospel of Santa Fe spring: “Don’t think it won’t snow again,” you might hear me saying to some easily-deceived-by-a-day-nearing-70-degrees person” or, perhaps, “just you wait until the winds pick up!”
Anyway. I, too, was hoodwinked by last week’s warm weather. So much so that yesterday I froze it out in sandals, as 80 mile an hour winds swept through the parking lot (Hello sweet hyperbole. What?)
I don’t know; couldn’t climate change ever mean that it changes in a good way. Like: no more wind? Does wind serve any useful purpose. What would happen if shit never blew around again anyway? Hair stayed in place; pollen clung to trees rather than flying up my nose, skirts never blew up in the middle of the street…
I spent last weekend’s windy weather dealing with the stupid sinus headache that likes to now make itself randomly known. I’ve discovered Musinex D, one of those drugs you have to sign a meth-disclaimer form to buy. It’s pretty good on the old noggin, and has the added bonus of making it impossible to either sleep or eat, so hello productive extra time. Shit, who needs a meth lab anyway?
Was sufficiently medicated by Sunday to attempt first grilling/bbq party of the season. Which was fun, even though it got a bit cold as the sun started setting (it actually got to be about 30 degrees, but, you know, I don’t want to whine or anything).
And now it’s Annual Manual season, which I could moan about, but if you’ve been reading this blog for the last, um, eight years or whatever, you’ve heard it before.
Oh the phone is ringing.
I guess I’ll answer it.