A storm system rolled into the desert this past week. We really needed the rain, but since every silver lining has a cloud, I have reason to be less than thrilled. Humidity.
I love arid air. It’s the glorious antithesis to my less-than-happy life in the South. Dry is good. Dry is clean. Humidity is clammy, clingy, laden with spores and malaise. Humidity is intrusive. It doesn’t want you to forget it’s there.
So here I am, with the humidity fluctuating between 40 and 60 percent—a range most of the country considers normal—getting all cranky, wanting this oppressive wetness to end. Now! But, no. There’s more rain tomorrow. Sigh. I think I’m sprouting gills.
Taking advantage of a break in the weather
Perfect summary of how I feel as well. Thank you.
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