Thoughts on a Walk (That Never Happened)

There’s something in the Maine air lately, Modern Philosophers, that’s turned me into an insomniac with a glandular problem.

The Republicans can scream at the top of their lungs that Global Warming isn’t a thing, but when I’m sweating my #$%^ off in 90 degree heat at the end of September, something is amiss.

And I’d much rather the reason for this Autumn heat wave be something with a scientific explanation, rather than a freakish mystery spawned from the mind of my neighbor, Stephen King.

I had planned to write a Thoughts on a Walk post tonight, but it’s too damn hot to walk.  I tried it last night, and my shirt was sticking to me after just five minutes.

The interns started to cry when I said I was ditching the post, so to avoid their wailing, I’ve come out on the porch to write about what my thoughts might have been had I braved the heat and humidity and gone for a walk.

And if anyone is looking for interns, I’m ready to get read of mine real cheap…

I could not fall asleep last night.

I’ve been having trouble falling asleep lately, but this was beyond the usual.  It was past midnight and I was still tossing and turning.  The alarm was set for 5:30 for my run, but I knew there was no way I’d survive a 9 hour work day on 5 hours of sleep.

So I kept setting the alarm later and later.  Finally, I just decided to ditch the morning run and go on Sunday instead.  It was utterly ridiculous.  All I could think about was how I would get through today if I never managed to fall asleep.

On Friday night, I’d Googled tips on falling asleep, and actually found a breathing exercise that worked.  I conked out very quickly all weekend long.

Last night, though, the breathing exercise did nothing.  Either my body had built up an immunity to it, or Insomnia was just that powerful.

The heat and humidity were the main culprits, but there was something else in play.  All day long, I’d felt off.  Like I was short of breath and my heart was racing.

But every time I checked my pulse, it was normal.  I’m the healthiest I’ve been in a very long time, so I was baffled.

All I knew was that my body was not operating like the well oiled machine it had become over the past six months.

If anything, it was leaking oil and due for a visit to the mechanic.

While I’m using the car analogy, let me just point out how nice it’s been to have the RAV4 over the last couple of days.  Rather than fretting over whether Zombie Car would start in this heat, I enjoyed cranking the AC in my new vehicle and having an easy drive home.

Mrs. Fish, Original Goat Girl (OGG), and I walk on our daily breaks.  For the past two days, however, we’ve been cutting the walks short because of the heat and humidity.

That was never an issue over the Summer, when the temps are supposed to skyrocket and overactive sweat glands are the norm.

OGG is preggers, and she’s entered the mean phase of having that human growing inside her.  We were already moving at a snail’s pace because of the weather, but OGG told me if I didn’t stop running, she was going to cut off my feet.

Now I’m sure such a practice is common in OGG’s native Ukraine, but in America, HR frowns upon an employee removing a coworker’s body parts on company property.

Plus, I wasn’t running.  I was barely propelling myself forward.  I was moving like a Zombie, only rather than brains, I was craving air conditioning and ice cream.

Speaking of ice cream, I got it in my head yesterday that the office really needed a soft serve ice cream machine.

I was ready to start a petition and then sign it a million times and submit it to the CEO.

Just the idea of being able to shuffle away from my desk, stick my mouth under the spigot, and then fill my face with soft serve, helped me get through the rougher, sweatier portions of my day.

But no machine materialized by the end of the work day, so on the way home, I stopped for ice cream.  That’s right, Modern Philosophers, after I write this post, I’m curling up on the couch, watching my Monday night DVR shows, and then repeatedly shoveling Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream into my face hole.

And since The House on the Hill doesn’t have AC, by the time I go to bed, I will sweat off enough calories to more than make up for those ingested in the yummy goodness straight from my grocer’s freezer.

I also bought a bottle of Melatonin.

Enough is enough.  I need sleep.

I’ve used the magic pills before, and they kicked Insomnia’s ass the way Mike Tyson used to demolish an opponent in the ring.

I’m pretty sure the Melatonin also bit off Insomnia’s ear.

Sure, taking the pills gives me freaky dreams, but those will only inspire cool blog posts and new screenplays.

And bring desperately needed sleep to this exhausted Modern Philosopher.

I’d love to write more, but the interns have finally stopped crying long enough for me to be able to hear the ice cream calling my name.

Stay cool and sleep well, Modern Philosophers.  And please wish me the same…