June 27, 2003

It's hot here, nearly unbearably

It's hot here, nearly unbearably so. The sun rises about three am, and then sets about midnight. The morning hours start off warm, and throughout the day you have to open with windows to let some air pass through. My dog, Ed, (the perfect collie), is a bit pissed off at his substantial coat, wandering around, looking for places in the shade.

I have a big garden, which I had never been keen on before. The Swedes are extremely big on nature, the environment, gardens, and conservation/preservation. It was with trepidation that I planted a garden-and extremely haphazard, I must say. I just whacked bulbs in pots in various places, scattered seeds throughout areas, and I honestly don't remember everything I planted. But it all seems to be coming up nicely, anyway. Let's see what my random gardening efforts bring to fruition.

I have also started hanging clothes outside on the line to dry. It takes almost no time to dry, and they smell like heaven. I change the sheets every Sunday, without fail (unless something comes in and makes changing the sheets more urgent, like a surprise visit from the Period Fairy). And when I take the sheets down, I invariably put the same ones back on the bed, since they smell so heavenly.

I like to sit outside on the grass and drink a beer, my MD player tucked into my ears, shades over my eyes, the Swedish sun on my back, and just enjoy. I have taken to wearing a bikini top around the garden, which is something new for me-I am extremely modest about my appearance, although getting better. I even got a navel ring recently, and since my fanaticism for running is showing up on leaner muscles and a trimmer waist, perhaps I have finally got reason to boast.

It's in moments where I am in the sun, or walking Ed, or gardening, that I realize how much I enjoy being alone. Very alone. I don't want to talk, I don't want contact, I just want to be alone. This is not so pleasant for my Significant Other, who often wants to reach out and share his day and his thoughts. And I wish I could be there to listen and interact, but everything, all the time, feels like I am treading in mud, trapped by my desire to have quiet around me and in me.

So if you're wondering, tonight I will again be drinking a nice English ale, sitting in the grass, in the sun, with the sound of clothes flapping on the line. Just enjoying the silence.

- H.

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