I feel kind of bad right now because i am sitting here pretending to type something important on my extremely loud keyboard while my sister is outside slaving away laying bricks for our new patio. Before this I was watching a documentary on the Military Channel about the F/A-18 Hornet fighter jet. And before that I was laying in bed listening to David Sedaris and trying to figure out how to pretend that I was asleep for as long as possible to avoid working outside. I think this makes me an asshole. On the other hand, it could just make me a person who doesn't feel working outside first thing in the morning on her first real day off in like two weeks.
Today is actually the perfect day to be outside. It's in the low 80s, (relatively) low humidity, and cloudy. And to me, cloudy is the best part. I realized the other day that I am actually happiest when it rains (just like that garbage song) or is threatening to rain. My benchmates at work think that this is some sort of deeply rooted, asofyet undiagnosed psychological malady, but I think it's just because things are calmer when the sun is hidden. I feel like when its out, people automatically think to themselves "It's sunny! It's a beautiful day!!! CARPE DIEM!!!!" To me, knowing that everyone within the same weather pattern as me is thinking this lends a sunny day a kind of scrambling hysteria, with everyone tearing down the highway towards the beach, their 30 ft. boats weaving and bucking behind them in a disconcertingly unstable way, desperate to partake of solar activities.
On the flip side, when it is cloudy and "depressing", people give themselves permission to stay in, read a book, take a nap, whatever. It's pretty spectacular actually--in a town whose social identity rests on aquatic activities and clear weather, a few clouds and scattered raindrop or two can turn a thriving metropolis into a relative ghost town (downtown seems exempt from this phenomenon as it is more tourist oriented and time is precious no matter what, but once one steps foot off of the peninsula the rules change). This is when I like to go out and accomplish things, because I know that it won't be crowded. I'll wander down the deserted aisles at BiLo, tripping over tumbleweeds and cattle skeletons, searching in vain for the loan cashier whose thankless job it is to man a grocery store on a day where EVERYONE should be inside and unconscious. I'll drive out to the beach to walk and savor the cool salty weather, and residents dragging their outdoor chair cushions inside for protection from the elements will look at me uncomfortably, the way you might regard a person who has climbed to the other side of the protective fence at the apex of a tall bridge. I'll smile, wave, and say "I love this weather!", and at that they will offer me a pained smile and retreat inside, doutlessly wondering if there was anything they could have done to save me from my madness. On my walk back to my car, with my shirt slightly damp due to light rainfall, people slow to a crawl beside me and ask in concerned voices if I need a ride. When I point out my car, clearly visible less than a quarter mile up the road, they will grimace and say "are you SURE..." before driving off, the guilt etched into their faces. Its very easy to feel self concious, to think that maybe I am weird for not being wary of exposing my skin to mysterious water falling from the sky, of all places. But I've converted that energy, and now concentrate on feeling superior to all of those dry, tanned souls. It's nice get pleasure out of something that others dislike. Kind of a "one man's trash is another man's treasure" type mentality.
Aaaaand now I've been sitting here typing for so long that I think the sun is coming out. Crap.
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