The Sand PeopleIt got down below twenty degrees last night, and it's still below freezing this afternoon, so the heater's been on quite a bit. It's been on quite a bit for the last week, actually, and I'm starting to think it's made out of sand, because that's how dry it feels. I put on huge amounts of lotion and--still sand. The only time I don't feel like that is when I'm swimming.
By the way--the ultimate O.C.D. nightmare? Adjusting the faucet drip.
I forgot to mention yesterday that one of the personality characteristics of the Hedda Hopper cat is that it will wake you up ten times a night. That's what our cat is doing, and my sleep has been absolutely horrible the last three nights. I think I'll volunteer for a sleep deprivation study, because at least then I'll be getting paid to be woken up every hour.
So I'm at the pool today, and because I slept so poorly last night, the swim is torture. I felt like a cinder block swimming through sand. Wait, I already said I felt like I was made out of sand, so that would be sand swimming through sand, which doesn't make sense. Hmm. Okay--I'm sand swimming through broken glass. Painful, but not really what I mean. How about I'm sand swimming through semi-porous foam? No. All right, let's just say that I'm something very dry swimming through something that's very difficult to swim through.
They don't call me a wordsmith for nothing.
After I got out of the pool, there were two twenty-somethings flirting on a bench. I guess my prolific display of swimming through quicksand got them all worked up. He asks her something (I couldn't quite hear what), and she giggles and says "I think you're the first one."
I immediately think probably not. I don't blame her for saying that, though--"I think you're the next one" doesn't really have the same allure.
Now if there's some kind of Northern secret about not turning into a lizard during a cold stretch, please let me know. Otherwise, I'll just seek to gain stature in the loosely-organized community of sand people.