It’s so weird to sweat, doing nothing. It reminds me of North Carolina. Walking home from work today was like a sensory experience I can’t quite begin to describe. I was wearing shorts, short sleeves, and the weather felt like all my favorite memories of weather. Sun setting, but the warmth persisting. No wind. If every day were like today, San Francisco would be absolutely perfect. The evening felt like a nice weekend afternoon, instead of the perpetual blustery autumn that is this exposed peninsula.

Of course it doesn’t hurt that I’m now drinking a glass of cool white wine, listening to the New Pornographers playing gently on the stereo in the next room, with all the windows open, hoping to create some sort of cross draft.

If you could do anything what would it be?

That’s what this weather seems to ask me. Heat makes me contemplative. I feel bold. I could make change. I don’t have to stay here, nesting, hibernating, trying to stay warm. I can go out.

Winters here are so subtle and mild they make me forget summer. And then summer comes and I turn into this machine of doing things, of squeezing the life out of every possible waking hour. But I still forget. Every winter. Spring pokes out its head and I throw up my arms. I don’t know what to do! I’m completely out of hibernation projects. I guess I just needed to go outside.