Spring has sprung, and I'm afraid I've lost the ability to enjoy it.
It started last fall, at the beginning of the oh-my-God-I'm-not-wearing-a-coat-and-it's-Christmas weather that may well have sparked this green-everything trend we're seeing these days (Leonardo DiCaprio has nothing to do with it either way, I assure you). Unseasonably warm weather, once a sun-kissed promise of brighter days to come, had become a harbinger of tsunamis, earthquakes, and the general death and destruction Al Gore promised us.
In New York I become especially fearful. Before moving here last fall I lived here for a summer in a 5th floor walkup, un-air conditioned Harlem apartment. It was, in every way, hellish. All I remember from that summer is sweating, sweating in my bed, sweating immediately after taking a shower, sweating the entire way to work until collapsing in the antiseptic chill of a corporate office. Ahhh... the man's air conditioning...
While I know this summer will be different-- I have air conditioning, I live on the first floor, and I'm even 50 pounds lighter now, which must make things easier somehow-- the smell of warm garbage or the feel of hot pavement still gives me eerie flashbacks to sitting on a pleather couch in a sublet with a bottle of frozen liquor strategically placed in front of a desk fan to keep me cool. And as God is my witness, I will never return to those dark days again, as much as I may paranoidly fear their return.
It's especially sick when I'm walking outside with the kids I babysit, remarking on how beautiful the day is and practically cackling "But it won't last for long!" I'm not even sure if I'm talking about imminent global warming or the fact that summer's heat will make everyone wilt, but I can't even let our youngest citizens take in a spring day filled with blooming dogwoods and tulips. I guess some environmentalists would call that responsbible-- get 'em while they're young!-- but seriously, you've got to be able to enjoy that splendor in the grass at some point, don't you?
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