It is the perfect weather

I am the rare San Franciscan who declares the current weather (a fine 55°F) to be perfect.

“It was perfect for cycling,” I said yesterday when my roommate lamented how it chilly it was.

That’s not to say that when I am at my desk in my apartment that my fingers feel awfully numb. But the comfort that I don’t have to fling off layers of blankets and can wrap myself in a burrito in my down blanket…is so satisfying.

I love my long-sleeved clothes anyway. The way it drapes and wraps around my body, cuddling and holding me, sort of like how I prefer sleeping on my stomach.

This is the weather I prefer.

The weather should be at this temperature in San Francisco, but global warming (or some other natural weather phenomenon) has prevented the weather from being like this. I like it when the air is crisp. My apartment keeps a different temperature than the outside. It will always be warmer than the outside. It will be cooler than the outside. Naturally due to its lack of air circulation. As a result though, sometimes in my room, I want to curse the designer of the apartment. Because in warm weather, the air halts and does not move. It suffocates, and I turn on a fan, but it does nothing.

It’s a crisp weather now. The feeling that an apple has been cut, and the juice spills out. It’s almost like a feeling of wetness, but not quite. I love to sleep in this weather, and when I spring to my step on the cool hardwood floors, I am reminded that it’s not summer anymore. Then when I walk into the bathroom tile, I tiptoe, because my sole is cold. When I crawl back into bed, my soles are icicles as I cross my legs underneath the blanket. But I run hot nowadays, and my body temperature warms my soles. And I slip underneath the covers, ready to wake up for a cool morning.

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