It’s changing, the world is: shifting. In another few weeks, it’ll have slouched as far as it can, like a rocking chair that’s juuuuust about to tip over. And then, hopefully, it’ll creak upright again (whatever upright means in a place where all axes are relative).
There’s an anxiety that comes from bowing so deeply to the sun. It hurts the lungs, compresses them. At times, it’s hard to breathe.
It’s a Pavlovian response, really. The tension spreads slowly, keeping pace with the slow spread of sunlight, the widening gap between sunrise and sunset. The wires pull tight with the first blast of summer heat — which in my case is the first day I turn on the living room A/C, the day I sprawl on the sofa, a light sweat making me juuuuust that much uncomfortable. It’s then that I think to myself: less than a month ’til hurricane season.
A few years ago, that wouldn’t have bothered me at all. But now, it’s like, it’s like boarding a plane in a thunderstorm, or packing to spend a vacation with the in-laws: there’s a bumpy ride ahead and nothing to do but take some downers, chug a beer, and suck it up.
Chances are good that we’ll get through this year just fine. Chances are good that if someone takes a beating, it won’t be us. Chances are good that our chances are as good as anywhere else, but no better.