It is 89 outside and feels like 90 something. Yes, the humidity is high. I went out to the garage and it felt as if I were in a sauna. I suppose I should go out, sit in the shade, read and drink iced tea.

I had forgotten how awful still, humid air can be and I feel really bad about Der Bingle’s days in the apartment with (count them – okay, I will) 1,2 windows and a sliding glass door out to the balcony, which he has taken to calling the porch.

Well, shucks, I wrote the best sentences I have ever written and when I pressed Save Draft, they disappeared. (cough, cough)

He is in Fairborn, Ohio at the Ohio Redoubt of The West Facing Cave and he will probably have no power for the next couple of days. The storm that went through snapped about 125 steel and wooden poles along Kauffman Road  . . .

The first night with no power he listened to people coming home to their apartments during the night. Everything was pitch dark and at one point he heard a male voice say, “Just follow behind me.” Then a female voice replied, “What? You just ran into a wall, idiot.”

The wind blew very hard; it looked as if the bushes outside the porch windows were going to take off. But they didn’t – at least here. After things had died down my brother-in-law called me to see if I were all right because 91 MPH WINDS HAD GONE THROUGH FORT WAYNE! Things did blow away down there, and unfortunately, some did not blow away – they just blew over onto houses and cars. Power was out on major thoroughfares and one lady was so hampered by the violent rain that she drove into a lake.

Der Bingle who lives really close to Wright-Patterson AFB where they were having an “open the base to civilian neighbors for a big party” event  lost his power around 4 pm.  The gates to the base were opened just at that time for the first of expected 30,000 visitors; at 4:30 the strong wind and rain started.

I don’t know what happened there but Der Bingle was still without power the last time I talked with him last night. He had, however, gone to Meijer’s, which was operating on an emergency generator, and got an oil lamp. He has a phone charger for the car, but he does not have a Kindle car charger. I feel his pain.

It looked a bit iffy when I got up early this morning, but the overcast is lightening now and I think I can see shadows here and there. I think we’re going to have hot weather continue; yes, I just checked and the high is going to be 92. The days that follow are showing an upward trend.

I imagine we did not get enough rain to do the farmers much good, but it will probably give the weeds a real boost and I will find myself mowing again.

Time to go make myself some iced tea . . .

I’m not going to link to the post below, but I’m not going to take it down. I mean, really, it wouldn’t be right for me go, “Uh, nevermind,” Anyway, whenever I need a slap in the face, I can just read it and cringe.

So, on with the day . . . and those that follow.

I cried in the doctor’s office – not sobs, but bouts of tears. All about the possibility of consequences from high sugar. All because of a label. I’d walked around this before – this not being fit and letting people down – and it seemed I’d dodged the bullet. But the thoughts about failing to do the wise and smart and responsible thing about my weight had triggered memories of other not so responsibly-acting times, other letdowns. I kind of pushed those other thoughts back into a locked place. Then, today, when he said he thought the bullet had hit after all, that news caused my feelings about all the past times to burst that locked door wide open.

Ironically, this bullet I can deal with. It’s the behavior choices of before that popped out and are standing their gound that have me feeling so guilty, which translates, I think, into so, so sorry  for myself. The “Woe is me; why couldn’t I have been a better person?” annoying whining syndrome.

Now, I don’t want sympathy at all; it’s just right now I don’t want to have people actually, say, “Well, yes, you’ve got that right, AmeliaJake. Threw away your potential with laziness and an abrasive personality and just made your parents so sad.”

Der Bingle will make me face up to it and not use any platitudes. I think I need a couple of days, though, and that’s why I’m probably not going to the Ohio Redoubt this weekend; I’ll wait until Wednesday and drive out with him to Iowa for his nephew’s wedding. I should be ready then for the reminders that the hotel has a pool and exercise room; I can be braced for any objective and truthful remarks about my traits toward easy anger and grudge-holding and downright nastiness and trouble-making; I’ll be able to tolerate ‘water under the bridge’ and ‘no use crying over spilled milk’  remarks.

BUT RIGHT NOW I WANT TO WALLOW IN A MOST UNATTRACTIVE MUD HOLE OF SELF-PITY AND EMBARRASSMENT.

Oh, and the bit about slapping someone and them saying, “Thanks, I needed that” . . . well, wait a bit and maybe I’ll snap out of it.

God, these self-realization moments suck.

Sorry, that ACK is all I could manage as I looked at the temperature now – 57 – and then saw the predicted high of 90. It is pleasant outside, pleasant and cool. BUT IT’S NOT GOING TO STAY THAT WAY.!!!!!  No reason for the caps or the red, unless it is my inner klaxon reminding me not to trust the siren call of the cool early morn. That’s sounds so poetic, but I’ll bet as the temperature unmercifully climbs, I will spouting doggerel. 

But, heck, it’s only 90; it’s not like it’s going to be 101, which is predicted for TOMORROW.

Tomorrow is probably what has me on edge – I have my appointment with the parathyroid guy and in the back of my mind, I can here him saying, “Well, AmeliaJake, it looks like we’re going to have to remove your neck.” Rats, I’m so short already.

Finally, my shoes are off and so are my socks and my feet are resting next to each other on a soft, fluffy comforter. I couldn’t do it earlier because I had to water the tomatoes plants on the moundlet, and to do that, I have to move the hose three times. It is done now and I am about done in, soon to be tucked in.

I made myself wait to remove shoes and socks because I knew, just knew, that once they were off I would manage to just forget to go out and shut off the water. Such a little thing and such a big relief. Not that my shoes were uncomfortable; they were just there – and I wanted my feet to feel the cool softness of the evening.

Oh, by the way, I took a picture of the top of my head to assess the greyness factor. It seemed so logical, but when I mentioned it, people seemed surprised. Imagine that. I guess my peg is a rather unusual shape, which is why I carry my hole with me. (I don’t understand what I mean by that too well, either – so don’t feel bad.)

I pulled my hair in a topknot after I washed it to allow the roots to dry in a position of rehabilitation, whatever that means . . . and I forgot about it. So I’ll have crazy hair tomorrow.

Ahem, some might find that quite fitting. (I can HEAR YOU, little Sophie.)

Weather.com’s thunderstorms icon is sitting on their webpage with a p.m. alert under it. But we have seen this 40% prediction before . . . and have seen no rain or lightning nor heard any thunder. I feel like a hypocrite, however, after all my years of complaining about Indiana days that have dawned so bright and sunny and uplifting only to change to gloomy rain clouds. It’s like Northern Indiana weather and the Cubs have the same sort of curse.

I am being too much of a Goldilocks; our weather is never going to be “just right” – not a chance. I need to accept this.

Thanks to the Internet’s scope, I have really come to see some people have a lot of devastating “not just rights” in their lives – more like “really wrongs”. The horrible aspect is when these situations are not twists of fate.

Here’s one:

I click on a link to a story about a young woman who has a daughter who must live in a hospital setting; the little girl – now five – has never been home.

The woman and her husband live in New York City; her husband is a lawyer who loves photography, running marathons, biking, expensive gadgets and travelling. She is a hairdresser for high profile clients. The husband’s brother is a very successful musician/songwriter in Utah who has preformed with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir; and his father taught at the Wharton School of Business while he and his siblings were growing up.

I revisited her blog on a whim and found out the husband has announced he is outta here – for photo gigs, soirees, biking, running and Alaskan vacations and, yeah, corporate law. She is having to sell things to supplement her income.

Now that just ain’t right. I think it’s a betrayal. No more having to visit a daughter in the hospital because his wife wants to. He is outta here for all the beautiful people stuff.

Well, that’s his business . . . and maybe his dad taught him that – “Business is business”, doncha know. Nothing personal, dontcha know. Maybe his brother will write a song about it.