How it is this time

Sometimes I come back from vacation feeling energized and enthusiastic. My two weeks of adventure and relaxation have led me to all sorts of new plans and ideas for regular life, and I whistle while I do the post-trip laundry, etc.

This is not one of those times. As our plane approached JFK yesterday afternoon, the pilot announced that the temperature at our destination was 94 degrees. That broke me. I actually shed a few tears on the plane. Dropped a couple f bombs while Oliver tried valiantly to remain patient. I know there was more to my freakout than just the weather - exhaustion, hormones, a fresh reminder that so many of the people we care about live so far from us - but the pilot wasn't making announcements about any of those other things, so the weather bore the brunt of my rage.

I don't mean to be a cranky old lady who always talks about the weather, but after two glorious weeks of sweaters, fleece blankets and chilly evening walks, New York feels horrible. It's going to be 95 degrees again today. I am so tired of not being able to spend time outside. Of coming home from work and feeling listless and cranky. I want to turn on the oven again. I want to go for a bike ride. I thought that by skipping out of town when we did we could cheat the city of its last two weeks of summer hell, and come back renewed and cooled down. September would be a brand new month. Silly me.