For the first time all winter, I am sleeping with the windows open. Actually, only one window, at the foot of my bed. I like the feel of cold air blowing over me when I sleep. I don’t like air conditioning. It has an industrial feel to it. Manufactured cold air. And quite honestly there is no way that I am heffing that monster of an air conditioner out of my closet at 1 am on a Wednesday morning in March. That just sounds stupid. But tonight I am sleeping with the window open. The window in question is behind a seven foot cactus, so closing the window in the middle of the night might bring about a new set of scars.
Have my days been so full of fluff and busy work and distractions and lunacy that this is what gets me to sit down for a minute and think? Opening a window in March? It seems that way, doesn’t it.
I hope the temperature drops tonight and I wake up cold and search for my slippers. I am excited about a hot shower in a matter of hours. I am excited about getting my hands back in the dirt and tending some plants that I planted in someone else's yard years ago. I am excited to get on a plane at an ungodly hour on Thursday and fly down to South By Southwest to play music for 45 minutes and then jump back on a plane hours later to get back Chicago and go to work at an ungodly hour Friday morning. I am excited to celebrate this weekend and drink and laugh with old friends and slam my fingers against my bass strings. I am ready for something. That something just might just be cold toes, but my guess is this window means more. So bring on the Fire Truck sirens, the mufflerless cars in the ally way, the gusts of wind from the lake, the restaurant’s roof heater buzzing away at 4am. Tonight, I’m sleeping with the window open.