You know that first hot, hot day with lots of sunlight? The one where you stay out far too long, and you eventually have to retreat to the shade? The day where people stare at other attractive people's asses a bit more? Where everybody is outside - walking, traipsing, talking, conspiring? Where most forms of public transportation become moving sweatmobiles in a matter of hours?
Today was that day. It was great, beautiful, wonderful (besides the moving sweatmobiles). Some friends and I took advantage by going from a to b to c and back to a again together, laughing and chatting all six hours we managed to wander in the stifling heat.
The only thing better than running around all day and soaking up more cancer-causing rays is that sleepy moment around seven pm where the sun starts to wind down and your energy goes with it. Summer annually requires a few days of adjustment - moments of rest to exorcise the UV rays that your body reacts to as a foreign invader after so many months of gray skies. Early summer moments of evening sleepiness are precious reminders of the importance of seasonal adjustment. This evening, I felt that moment creeping up on me, and I happily settled into my bed (window open) knowing full well that I would soon drift to sleep.
That was not, however, an open invitation to come into the bedroom, turn on the stereo, start downloading onto my computer, and to blast African music at high volume through the speakers - one of which was three-four inches from my left ear.
I like African music. I do. But if there's one problem I have with it at this moment is that it is not conducive to sleeping. There's a lot of energy involved in those rhythms, and they always makes me feel like I'm in an overcrowded bar and everybody's dancing on tables. This can be a great feeling. But not when I'm sleeping and I am trying to exhaust an entire day's worth of excessive - albeit welcomed - exposure to sunlight.
The real injustice here is that men can sleep through anything. So he who first turned on the music is out like a lamb on the bed, while she who once was sleeping is staring blandly at the computer screen, unable to do anything constructive and entirely too foggy-headed to even consider making an attempt.