Musings From A Well-Steamed Season

If there are indeed mosquito borne illnesses present in Oklahoma, I should have died a LONG time ago.  Even with repellent, I attract, and am bitten by at least three mosquitoes every time I go outdoors in anything resembling twilight.

There is something about August that disagrees with my constitution in general.  I have this nearly every year.  I feel out of sorts, physically, emotionally, spiritually.  Dis-satisfied with life in general, unwilling to do even the usual things I like to do, tired, dreary, generally depressed.
I don't know if it's the oppressive nature of the weather, or my personal biorhythms, or something in the air, but August bums me out.   There is a virtual volcano of emotion, words, descriptions, stories building up inside me, and yet I am too innervated to sit down and write them. 
As the clouds billow up, yet no storms appear, no refreshing rain falls, so is the inside of my skull lately.  Lots under the surface, nothing making its way out.

Always I feel like over-eating at times like this.  As though food is the one and only panacea for this lethargy, this disconnectedness.  Food only makes it worse.  Makes me feel heavy, unwell, and unhappy because I really am meant to be thinner than that.  The frame I walk around on is relatively small, and the joints of it tell me in NO UNCERTAIN TERMS when I gain so much as a pound. 

Oh, but ice cream is SOOOO GOOOOD on a hot, sultry, nasty summer day. And I really don't need the calories.  I need to spend 90 minutes or so on the elliptical.

I also need to write.  I have been neglecting that lately.  Too much spinning around in this head of mine, gotta let some out.
That's what my journals and this blog are for, and I hope that at least this much of it makes a tiny bit of sense.

Light is usually welcome
Except when it only brings more heat
Darkness is usually unwelcome
Except when it brings relief from unrelenting heat
And burning brightness.

Sunshine is usually far more pleasant
Than the ominous shadows of clouds
But when the landscape of my soul
Is parched and desolate
Then sunlight burns,
And rain is a much desired thing.