Chronic Weather Whiplash

You may remember that last year I was diagnosed last with a very serious condition---true, it was a self-diagnosis, but none the less valid. I’m pro self-diagnosis: the waiting room is less crowded, the magazines are better, and it’s less scary than googling stuff on WebMD. Self-diagnosis comes with fewer yucky pictures. So, in short, self-diagnosis is like regular diagnosis, only with less. And the co-pays are surprisingly affordable.

According to Wikipedia—or at least it was once I uploaded the definition—Weather Whiplash is what happens to you when the weather moves from one extreme to the other in a short period of time. The weather is careening from Cold and Damp, to Hot and Miserable, and back again, with very few stops at Mild and Lovely along the way. SPOILER ALERT: Mild and Lovely is my preferred weather destination. That’s where I like to summer. Please forward my mail.

As I said last year, there is no known cure for Weather Whiplash---although if y’all wanna start a Go Fund Me, YouTube Marathon Fund Raiser, I’m open to the idea—as Guest of Honor, of course. But short of that, the only thing we can do is treat the symptoms and wait for July 5th when summer begins...

Eh. That’s the rub. Mother Nature is not following the Rules of the Known Universe as Understood by Sue. The weather is allowed to be iffy right up to---and sometimes including—July 4th. But unless July 5th falls on a weekend, you can count on Full Blown Summer arriving on that week. Those are the Rules.

July 5th happens, rain goes away, Summer settles in, I drink iced tea on my deck whilst enjoying the blooms. That’s. How. It. Works. The rain stays away until some random day in August—often Jubilee weekend, but it can’t be helped—we might get a little sprinkle. Then right back to sun, sun, sun, all the time.

July 5th is now in the rearview mirror, but the windshield wipers are on up front. I’m drinking hot tea, inside, instead of iced tea, outside. I’m using commas recklessly and threatening to wear wool socks—WITH MY FLIP-FLOPS.

Things are dire indeed.