If you have known me longer than 4 months, what I am going to say will probably surprise you.
Today was a gorgeous day. I reluctantly put on my coat as I made my way out the door. I just stood outside and basked in my surroundings. Cool, make that cold, crisp air, moist with light rain enveloped me. Dark cloudy skies hung overhead. Pretty colored leaves, off in the distance, hung in trepidation before gliding steadily downwards. I just stuck my nose up in the air and smiled and enjoyed this breathe of fresh air before getting in my car.
And the thermostat said 37 degrees. I did not want to come back inside.
You see, the past few days I have just been hot, hot, hot. I drink coffee, it makes me hot. I take a warm shower, it makes me hot. I try to move around, I get hot. I wear shorts and short sleeves and it just feels like an oven in here. My office is super hot, I had to turn on the air conditioner twice in the past couple of weeks even though the outside temperature should not have warranted it. The thermostat did register 75 before I did so, in case you are wondering.
It is late November. I should not be hot. Granted, this is TX, and TX does not present with the November I grew up with. But this is just wrong. November equals cold. Long sleeves. Thinking about long sleeves with flannel shirt if TX deigns to provide this option. Fuzzy slippers. Fires in the fireplace, again, if TX deigns to provide this option. It is late November. I should be cold.
I am disoriented.
All my life, 39 years of it, I have been cold. I have hated the cold. I have complained about the cold. I have avoided the cold. You will note I, in fact, made the move South, and part of that choice was, to be honest, the cold. More specifically, the snow. I really don’t like driving in snow. I would wear long underwear, a down coat with hood, hat underneath, puff gloves, you name it, if I was outside and it was 30 degrees or less, I was too cold. If I was inside, and it was 70 degrees or less, even in long sleeves and flannel, I was cold. My muscles would tighten up. My fingers and toes would go numb. And, to be perfectly honest, I would get right cranky.
My sense of self is a cold one. I knew not to turn up the heat without asking others first, because I was cold natured. I knew what to wear when the temperature dropped. And I wore it a good 15-20 degrees before everybody else. I must admit, and I never thought I would, I miss the cold me. The cold me could add layers. The cold me could use electric blankets, and a mouse pad warmer (yes, I did!). Th cold me could enjoy a cup of hot cider on a chilly day to warm up. The cold me did not sweat when moving around at the office on a 37 degree day in late November. Or outside when unloading the car with stuff to bring to the office (Assistive Technology related equipment, in case you are wondering). With a raincoat on that I would have worn last year only down to 45 degrees max. No gloves. No hat. No thank you. I needed that moist cold air to keep me from exploding.
I am recovering from a sinus infection gone something else that appears to be viral. Or so the non working antibiotics are telling me. I feel mostly better now, just slight sinus irritation. But still just so darned hot. No, no fever. I keep checking because surely this is a fever. Hopefully it is the steroids I am taking too. Because for 5 blissful weeks since starting my Estrogel, I have not had many hot flashes. I have not been the cold me, but at least I haven’t been the hot hot hot me. The hot hot hot me isn’t cutting the mustard. It is affecting my wardrobe choices. It is affecting my desire to move freely throughout space. It is affecting the enjoyment of my beloved flannel pajamas. My desire for that hot cider, and warm fire on a chilly November day.
I am disoriented.