Stifling and windless heat out here in the valley — an electrical thunderstorm at about 4am this morning, crashing thunder and sheet lightning, then a down pour of rain that did nothing to break the heat. My small dogs are quite oblivious to the noise of thunderclaps, unlike my old red ridgeback dog who trembled like a leaf and would creep up close to me during storms. I miss that dog so much.
My housemate is tired and anxious about her knee replacement operation on Thursday. I am also anxious, but trying not to show it. I hate the feeling of just enduring a difficult time. It is so easy to talk about ‘sitting with feelings’ and I often give myself glib peptalks, but the reality is that feelings of anxiety and helplessness wear one down. At times like this I seem to have little faith in anything and just have to endure, with gritted teeth.
When I’m not grounding and rooting my body in place, holding steady, reminding myself to stay grounded and centred, those good things, I’m breathing in deeply and exhaling in the hope of breathing out tension. It is too hot to breathe in and feel refreshed.
When I run water from the cold top at the sink, it pours out steaming and close to boiling. If I walked along the brick path through the back garden, the soles of my feet would blister. The dogs are sprawled panting on the wooden floor under my desk. Una is resting in the coolest room in the house. There are flies buzzing around everywhere, trapped behind blinds and shutters. Outside in the road a small boy is running up and down in the noon heat blowing a vuvusela, that long brightly coloured trumpet which sounds like an elephant farting.
This will pass. The heat will break. And I am sober. There is a jug of iced lemonade in the fridge. And one of these days my sense of humour will return and some courage and optimism will flow back.