Well, it’s been a while.

I’ve been going to the chiropractor every business day for the last month, and my carpel tunnel is now under control enough that I can type for pleasure again, thank goodness, although my month-long restricted computer use has been good for me.  I’ve been painting, writing letters, socializing, and watching very little Netflix, and I assuredly feel better for it.  Although, every season of X-Files just hit instant viewing, and I might go crawl into a hole with that series, but hopefully I can remember that everything is better in moderation.  It’s hard when Mulder and Scully are involved.  Yeah, I’m that kind of nerd, and I’m not ashamed, not even a little.

The Piedmont has been catapulted into summer, after a meager two weeks of blissful spring; it was 94 degrees when I got in my car at lunch time.  I wasn’t ready for it, not just yet.  In addition to the heat, a pollen bomb went off all over town, like nothing I’ve ever seen before.  The air was so clotted with plant seed on Friday night that my headlights cut beams through the yellowish fog.   When I sit on my front porch, I can hear the pollen falling; it makes the same noise as a light mantle of snow settling on the dry leaves in the front yard.  I have the distinct sensation that sound hasn’t been traveling as well as it usually does, and my scratchy eyes have to strain to see through the haze at twilight.

The pollen has never been this thick, oppressive.  Something inside of me knows this is another hangnail of climate change; can the plants feel an impending drought, forcing them to ejaculate yellow powder in quantities that leave everyone echoing the same sentiment:  ”It’s never been this bad.”  It’s amazing, a roiling yellow ocean that rolls along with the tires of a car, swirling over and around my shoes with every step I take, staining my ankles a yellow hue that doesn’t come off with a precursory rinse.  The method is the same, but the volume has changed, and for a whole host of reasons, I am not in love with it.

Tomorrow night is the season opener for the kickball league I have joined.   I’m excited, and a little anxious, as I haven’t played the game in two decades, but I like a little adventure, and I have been known to be a touch competitive.  Hopefully I’ll meet some cool new people…there’s 18 local teams!  It’s mind boggling that there are so many adults into kickball.  Bring it.  Untouchaballs, represent!