There is skin everywhere.
Yesterday was one of those first brutal days. One week from the summer solstice and I was already sweating. Summer arrived early like an unwelcome, premature orgasm. No warm up. There it was. I wanted to flirt with summer. Maybe summer could buy me an ice cream cone covered in edible glitter but the sun and unshaded city brick had other things in mind. Heavy, abrupt, dehydrating. All so matter of fact.
The jeans become jorts, sleeves become sleeveless, tops become crops. This is part of summer like thigh sweat and pretending to have fun at overly crowded festivals. I find summer abrasive. Not only the temperature but the cult like attitude towards fun. There is just so much pressure to have fun. Be seen having summer fun in summer outfits doing summer activities with people you care about, or don't really care about. It doesn't matter for documentation purposes.
It's ok to be depressed during the winter. No questions asked. Depression is a feature, a star, a celebrity of the cold months - taking center stage. No one expects you to perform in the theater of fun. Seasonal affective disorder or SAD is so commonplace there is a whole line of products geared towards fighting off the winter blues such as happy lamps, weighted blankets, supercharged vitamins, space saving treadmills, essential oils and plants. It might be winter outside but you can have a summer surrogate delivered to your door in 24-48 hours.
Every year summer comes and the show goes on. The sun comes up, the temperatures rise, the beaches open, and the curtain pulls back. I am reminded that I am an animal and there's no way around it. I will sweat, deodorant will be reapplied, bangs will stick to my forehead, makeup will run. I much more enjoy the mannequin like quality of being in a body. Be still. Unmoving. Act as though the viewer is a predator and you are a gazelle, a zebra, a deer. Your clothing becomes camouflage.
If possible, hold your breath. Better yet, don't need to breath at all. Don't need. Needing is the ultimate burden of having a body.
LOVE it!!!
ReplyDeleteAs I think you know, I HATE summer weather. More as I age and probably it's somewhat inflected by the anxiety re: the climate change times, as more heat comes for more days. June in Chicago should hold no more than a *few* random too-hot days. Not that there is anything to do about it. But. I can't escape my skin. "I am reminded that I am an animal and there's no way around it." And it goes on and on. My new technique seems to be to commit myself to tasks that only can be done indoors--things many people would do during the interiority-heavy times of winter. But my commitment makes summer ALL chores: surviving the horror of having a body and cleaning out shelves, boxes.
Octavia Butler. Fascist takeover. Dumbasses gleefully running their ACs while baking cookies. I don't know.
I also try to stay indoors, except for a new ritual: very early morning walks, 5:15 am, three turns around an artificial lake, breasts sweating to my naval.
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