I don't like hot weather. Any of you who know me personally know that. If I'm sweating, I'm miserable. Granted, it's May, so summer is pretty much already here, but I feel like I still have those few days/weeks left where I can enjoy going outside without wanting to kill myself or everyone else in proximity to me.
I don't know what it is about the heat that makes me feel violent. Maybe it's because I feel like I'm being slowly smothered by the humidity (thanks, Nashville basin). That kicks my fight or flight into high gear, and boom. I'm ready to punch anyone within arm's reach.
So how is it that so many people love - and I really do mean love - the hotter months of the year? That is a concept that simply does not compute in my brain. I would much rather curl up with a blanket while I nurse a steaming cup of chicken noodle soup or hot chocolate and peruse a book (or, let's be realistic, something on my Kindle) than go outside and immediately feel like I've waded through swampy sewage water.
All of that being said, I'm going to take the last few weeks of this glorious, non-horrendous weather, and enjoy the hell out of it in the hopes that it will make Summer seem less lengthy.
Who am I kidding? Summer is awful. Nothing will make it feel less awful. I am doomed to live life as a puddle for the next 4-5 months.
I hate you, Summer.