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Happiness is cold feet

By Robin Dearing

I have a heating pad nestled under my neck as I lie in bed coughing and blowing my nose this morning. But I'm not complaining.

I'm wearing sweat pants and a sweatshirt. My sliding-glass door is open, my feet are cold. And it's lovely.

It seems like I sweated my way through the summer. It didn't matter what I was doing, I was sweating.

Now, I understand that sweating is a necessary biological function. I also know that I live in the high desert. It's hot here. But there was something about this summer that kicked my ... uh, sweat glands into high gear.

It could be that my continuously perspire-y self was used to spending 40 hours a week sitting in an air-conditioned office. My body was used to being chilled like eggs in a grocer's cooler. I spoiled like a rotten egg this summer.

I hate complaining about the weather — it never seems to do any good. Instead, I’m happy to delight in the cooler weather. Even being sick is more tolerable when the weather is conducive to snuggling in bed.

Oh man, it’s starting to rain. There’s nothing better for a cold than a nap while it’s raining.

Happy fall, y’all.

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And ... then I was just working in the front yard and I’m sweaty again. Rabble scrabble sweaty hotness.




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