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ohh hahh ohh hahh
Argh.
That’s the sound you want to make. It’s one of those sounds you learned by reading it, connecting it to actual sounds you’d heard or made yourself. You can thank Bill Watterson for this, for argh and fwisshhhh and thhbbthpbbbtt.
In this case, argh is what you’re looking for. Argh covers the bases, accurately describes your frustration with the weather, with this shifty behavior it’s been exhibiting. Two days of gloom and rain had you feeling happy and content in your little home, waking up next to the girl with rain ticking at the windowpane, falling asleep to the same. Two days that have given way to — what, really? Ninety-three degree heat?
Blarghh, that’s another one, although one that you sort of coined yourself, or think you did, over the years. It’s a state of mind, of being, of resignation. It’s such an apt term that it’s caught on; a couple of times a week I’ll get an IM from N. that says just that, and if it comes at 3pm then that’s an average day, but if it comes at 9:15am, then the day’s got the makings of disaster, most likely.
Blarghh, that’s how I’m feeling now. The argh has passed and I’m looking out the window at stunning blue skies and still tree branches, and the love of my life has just texted me to tell me that it’s baking-hot inside our house, which bodes so unwell for the evening, particularly when you’ve planned to run yourself into a sweaty torpor at the gym. A house so warm that the walls are sweating isn’t really what you want to come home to after you’ve pounded the treadmills.
So a movie tonight, a cool theater, something to make us laugh. No snacks, not for me, at least, because I’m trying to eat like an intelligent human being lately, and the past week has been a tormentor of collapsing motivation and crumbling intentions.
But this heat. Blarghh. This isn’t what I’d have segued into, not from such a fine, wet intermission as we’ve just come from. I’d have gone with wind, maybe, and kept the sun tucked away a little longer. And ninety-three? No, no. We’re done with that this year. Ninety-three can make a reappearance next summer, but we’re done, done.
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