It’s been a long winter, and no mistake. Even as I write this, the sky outside is still overcast and looking as if it’s going to piss down absolutely freezing rain any minute; that’s basically what it’s felt like since… the heatwave of August last year, perhaps…? That’s likely an overstatement, but almost certainly since early October, we’ve been gripped by some consistently terrible, cold weather. When it’s not been overcast, that’s almost certainly because it’s been downright stormy with apocalyptic rain. Things have, to say the least, been far from sunny and wonderful.
I’m telling you all this in an attempt to set up the shocking nature of what happened last night. At some point in the middle of the night — at a time when, when I woke up, I knew better than to look at what time it was because it was clearly the middle of the night o’clock, if that makes sense — I woke up because I was, stunningly, too warm to sleep.
I honestly can’t remember the last time that happened; it’s almost certainly last summer during the heatwave — although, even then, I stayed asleep through most of that because I fell asleep knowing how uncomfortably warm it was in the first place. But, no, I woke up because I felt as if I was oppressed by the heat.
I knew, even as I moved the covers off me (keeping the cat as unbothered as possible in the process; I was half-asleep, but not insane, after all), that this was something I probably should have been annoyed by. Who wants to wake up in the middle of the night for any reason, after all? But, no; there was something thrilled about this disturbance, apparently. I was almost gleeful for the unexpected heatwave, and determined to appreciate it even as I made necessary changes to allow me to sleep through the rest of the night.
Of course, I felt somewhat less grateful when I woke up this morning still exhausted, but you can’t have everything, can you? In related news: it’s cold again, now.