Enter At Own Risk

So it's back. I did nothing, just stayed off blogger for a few days and voila! like magick, all's straightened out. At least I think it is. We'll see if this posts. I suppose I should be celebrating but it's too hot for hip-hoorays. Frankly, this last week has been a festival of menopause in Hell's basement. Stifling, humid and not made any better by the worrying and terrible current events or the general bitchiness of the clime. I can't even work up a good rant. And today, Helen Thomas' death threw me down the stairs.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/obituaries/helen-thomas-feisty-scourge-of-presidents-dies-at-92/2013/07/20/82285f4e-f145-11e2-a1f9-ea873b7e0424_story.html

RIP, scourge of Presidents. You did well.

In honor of Carlos Santana's birthday and this miserable heat wave that's kept my apartment at a toasty 85-93 degrees F for the last week:

My new Jesus sandals that were living under my desk (because my feet are too swollen to wear them) are out on the porch because they were soaking wet and growing mold.

I discovered that the acrid smell in my bathroom was mold, too, on the underside of the sweating toilet cistern tank. Lovely.

My little Hobbit hole has become a brick oven. We have no trees around this building. The Beest has taken to spending the days lying on the tile floor in the bedroom, the coolest spot in the house. She looks at me accusingly when I pass her. I comb and wipe her down with wet paper towels a couple of times a day. She will not use a litterbox that's more than 2 days old right now. I have to change her litter before she goes on strike and uses the floor. Hasn't affected her appetite any, and the vet said he's hearing of other cats going on litter strike in this heat wave. Should we run out and buy stock in litter companies? No of course not. None of us have money to gamble like rich people can.

For the past weeks the weatherbees have toyed with us. Touting cooler days to come like a carrot on a stick, they said it'd be over today. Then Sunday. Now it's Tuesday. At this rate I expect I'll be hanging Halloween decorations before the outdoors stops being like that Twilight Zone episode with Lois Nettleton.

Well. Aren't I the uplifting one? Strider recommended I put a sign on the door that says, "MENOPAUSE. ENTER AT OWN RISK AND WITH BOLD SENSE OF SELF." That sums it up. With things as they are, and all the awful that's gone on in the last weeks, I can do no better. There seem to be 3 speeds to me these days- weepy, bitchy and sardonic. I can't concentrate. I'm frustrated with my computer and my sudden problems typing. Facebook is a mindless distraction and a good place to commiserate with my fellow cranks. I haven't written my column in 3 weeks. Frankly, I can't even fake caring. All you can do when things are this miserable and discouraging is to hang on and hope things change.

Perhaps, if/when it cools, I'll be chipper-er. Not today.

Hang in there, everyone. x