Summer Lovin’

So, how about this weather hey!? Could there BE a more boring way to begin a post? In actual fact, this first couple of days of summer has had me wanting to run around naked yelling ‘weeeeeeeee’ like a kid under the sprinkler, so much has it improved my outlook on the world. By contrast, winter has me wanting to dig a hole like a mole and crawl underground for the duration with a large stash of pinot and mashed potato. I suspect I suffer from SAD. Seasonal affective disorder.

I wonder if this somehow ties in with the timings of our birth? I’m a summer-born Aquarian, making me a water-loving (or bearing, supposedly …does this mean I retain fluid??) air sign full of quirks. I don’t go in much for star signs, but I do seem to fit the character traits pretty closely. I’m certainly stubborn! Either way, I am at my happiest when it’s hot and dry. I feel alive, and awake, and full of energy. Strangely to me though, I’ve been noticing around the interwebs on twitter and the blogosphere that writing mojo among others is running low, as is zest generally. Are you all born in June, by any chance?

Being an Aquarian, I find I naturally lean towards such outfits for doing the groceries. Ahem.

I can’t help but wonder if our time of birth makes us only truly come ‘alive’ in our season, making us feel a little out of sorts and not quite ourselves the other times. I have a friend (born in July) who loathes summer, and everything about it. She craves airconditioning, hates the sun, hates the beach, and longs for a day of mild temperatures in the high teens. My brother, born in August, spent at least two years following winter around the world, from Thredbo to Whistler then back again. Most of the time when I ski I break something (to date, a verterbra, a knee, and last year I even managed to plant a stock in my throat. Don’t ask. I haz skillz.)

I’m still chilly and in jeans until we hit the high 20s, which I’m sure has something to do with my fondness for December. I get fed up in winter with trying to work out how to layer on enough clothes to stop turning purple, yet still be able to move my arms  enough to answer the front door and not be confused for the little dude made of tyres. I get neck pain from wearing a scarf that strangles me like a neck brace, and my nose runs perpetually like a dog if I exercise outside. I think I would quite possibly actually die if I moved to the northern hemisphere for a winter.

Not that I am at all melodramatic. No… not me. I am not known for my tendencies to embellish a story. However, I have had not one, but two doses of pneumonia in the last few winters in Sydney, a couple of cracked ribs from coughing (I put some pretty good effort into it. Didn’t want to cough like a girl), and a round of pleurisy last year with a partially collapsed lung (which bought me a stay in hospital for a couple of days with a hot doctor. Being sick isn’t ALL bad. Just mostly).

Summer has: the beach; gin; hardly any clothes (= hardly any thinking and half the washing); watermelon; mangoes; frosty fruits; prosecco; peaches, bare feet, cut grass smell, night swimming; thunderstorms.

I’m going to ask Santa for one of these for Christmas. For me.

Winter has: hairy legs; shit all besides.

A well-balanced list indeed. You’ll understand why I was such a strong debater in high school.

Am I onto something here? Are you tired worn-out people winter energiser-bunnies?