The office air conditioning is fixed, and for some reason, it's gone into super-charged freezing-mode. We're all sitting here in jackets and coats as though we're being forced to work inside some sort of fridge.
Seems like an odd thing to happen in August, I'll grant you. Especially when last night was baking. My phone says I slept for one hour and seven minutes - and from my calculation that was probably between the hours of 5:23 when I angrily threw the duvet onto the carpet, and 6:30 am, when my alarm went off.
Then I did a sweaty routine at the gym, which felt terrible, then great, then terrible again, then amazing, as often these things do. You'd think I'd appreciate the chance to cool off after that.
Anyway, there are icicles forming on my fingers and my nose is going blue.
Okay, that's an exaggeration, but yes, it is cold.
I'm starting to wonder whether these huge changes in temperature affect stress-fractures in us, like they do in buildings. Cracks appear in our moods perhaps; grumpy moments of thermal expansion.
I wish St Paul had made it a bit clearer how to 'take every thought captive', how to learn the 'secret of contentment', how to 'do everything without complaining or arguing'... when you're hangry, or freezing, or exhausted. It's so much harder! Maybe he did and I missed it. I always imagine him in the lovely Mediterranean sun with sandals, a pen, and a toga. But of course, he did get imprisoned and beaten and stoned and shipwrecked a few times. And I think even he asked for a coat once. None of that has happened to me today; I've got nothing to moan about.
Though if it's all the same, I might just pop outside to warm up.
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