“A unique astrological energy fills this summer that you may well be feeling! On one hand, FIVE planets are retrograde in the heavens, bringing back old, sometimes ignored issues from the past to be reviewed, faced and cleaned up once and for all before a big, new cycle starts in autumn.” (This makes me want to vomit.)
For many years after my first divorce, more than I care to remember, I lived without air conditioning in LA. Many a hot summer was spent in that no-mans-land, north on the 405, otherwise known as the San Fernando Valley.
Spoiled rotten after being raised in a home with central air, I roughed it in my twenties and thirties, too broke to afford a place with air-conditioning. Many a night I braved the triple-digit heat naked on the floor in front of a fan, spraying myself with ice water. And I swore that when I had a few bucks I’d NEVER LIVE WITHOUT AIR CONDITIONING AGAIN!
Cut to: Friday of last week. Extreme heat advisories were issued as the temps set new record highs—rising to 113 degrees. I watched from the comfort of my air-conditioned home as the heat scorched all of my hydrangeas, caused the squirrels to loiter in my fountains, and shocked several of our trees into dropping all their leaves.
Sitting in the cool, dry fabulousness of my home, I felt real compassion for all the suffering this extreme heat was causing. Been there, done that, I thought as I sipped a freshly brewed ice tea. Then, a few minutes later, I felt the tiny droplets of sweat form on my upper lip.
Huh, that’s curious, I thought. With great haste, I made my way to the thermostat to see where it was set. You see, sometimes, when I’m feeling energy conscious, I set the thermostat to the recommended 78 degrees. But that happens so infrequently that I feel like I’m fibbing to you when I tell you that there was even the slightest chance that it was set at 78.
Can we speak frankly?
I’m fucking sixty years old. And I only mention that because I’ve been burnt alive from the inside out for the past decade or so. I guess you could say I “run hot”. But that’s a colossal understatement. That’s like saying volcanos “run hot”. Truthfully, I’m being burnt alive from the inside out! Luckily I have it under control. That is until it gets over 100 degrees. Then my body turns into a series of rolling wildfires.
When that happens I’m not nice. I get short with people my husband. My tongue gets sharp like I ate glass for lunch.
And I most certainly CANNOT be anywhere that isn’t 72 degrees. So that was just the long way of telling you that our thermostat was set to 72 degrees. Do NOT get in my face about this! Trust me, it’s a preemptive measure because if I overheat I can do great damage. Seriously, you could weaponize me.
So you can imagine my horror when I checked the thermostat and it was going in the wrong direction!
It was 79 degrees!
I checked the vents. They were blowing tepid air in my face.
WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD?!
I collected myself and calmly phoned my husband.
“I think the air conditioning is broken,” I chirped.
I know, that he knows, that if I know it’s not working we’re all fucked—so I pretend I’m not sure—when I am—sure that we’re all fucked.
“I’ll call my guy,” he said. Then he hung up.
His guy. He has a guy—and he’s gonna call him. He’s gonna call his guy. I felt reassured.
Cut to: Saturday afternoon. In an 87 degree room in our house.
“FUCKING FIX IT!” I screamed.
And when I say screamed I’m not engaging in hyperbole. I was screaming. At the top of my lungs.
What can I say? My inner heat index had reached DefCon 5 and I was about to blow.
There was no reasoning with me, believe me, the sane part of me was trying.
I watched our little brown dog run for cover, terrified. We don’t scream in our house, well…ever.
“FUCKING FIX IT NOW!” I continued to scream as if my husband possessed the superpower to shoot frost out his ass.
“I have a call out to all my guys; they’re swamped. Everybody’s air is breaking.”
Not everybody. All I had to do was stand next to one of the windows we had flung open searching for a breeze. But there was no breeze to be found. You saw that coming, didn’t you? Anyway, they were letting the hot breath of Hell superheat our house while I could hear a thousand of our neighbors cooling units happily humming a chorus of You Can’t Always Get What You Want.
SOMEONE NEEDED TO DIE FOR THIS. I was fully weaponized. God forbid a technician shows up now.
“I swore I would NEVER live without air again!” I said.
“I know. You’ve screamed that at me a thousand times,” he said.
“Why aren’t you doing something? Aren’t you hot? Why are you fucking with your computer!!!” I screamed.
“I’m putting you in a hotel,” he said.
That’s when the technician showed up. As a favor to my husband. He’d made the time to squeeze us into his impossibly overbooked schedule. Because he likes my husband and they do a lot of work together.
I thanked him profusely, offered him a cold glass of lemonade and watched hopefully as he fixed our air conditioning.
Nah. That’s not what happened.
I annihilated him. I didn’t even let him descend the ladder before I laid into him. Remember, I was fully weaponized.
“What do you mean it’s broken BECAUSE IT’S HOT! THAT’S WHAT IT WAS MADE FOR! IT HAS ONE JOB!
WORK. IN. HOT. WEATHER!”
Then I caught myself and apologized with all my heart.
Nope. That didn’t happen either.
The guy came down the ladder—and quit.
So here I sit on Tuesday, day five of a brutal heat wave with a crapped-out air conditioner.
I LOVE a five-planet retrograde. And I really think I’m clearing out some of my old issues from my past, don’t you?
Carry on,
xox
