I suck at summer. It is most definitely my least favorite season. First of all, who can expect to be presentable when faced with heat indexes of 116 degrees? If I wanted to live in India, I would move there. Secondly, maybe this is exclusive to DC and people who work with Congress, but summers are always the busiest time of year. So not only do you have to run from meeting to meeting, dressed professionally, but you have to do it in weather that puts even the heartiest of stock in jeopardy of swooning.
Granted, this three-day (maybe four, meteorologists are now saying) heat wave is not the norm, but how long before it will be? I love how health experts warn us to stay hydrated, keep electrolytes up, and most importantly, avoid caffeine and alcohol in this weather. Are you kidding me? I need the caffeine to keep the engine running if I am going to be forced to live as though I have a hot steaming washcloth wrapped around me for the next four days, and I have not yet encountered alcohol-free Chardonnay. Caffeine and alcohol will make these dog days tolerable.
I dream thoughts of fall (tall boots, cashmere, gloves, scarves) but also long for an ocean breeze or perhaps a chilly New England night that calls for a sweater. A down-and-back business trip to Portsmouth, NH on Sunday and Monday, where the forecast calls for a very manageable high of 75 degrees, seems too good to be true.
On the positive side, this morning marked the first time in seven months that I did not look with envy at a (crazy) person I saw out on a morning run.
the chelsea chronicles 