gelid

Summer haze descends before summer has even officially arrived. Moderate June temperatures so far now shift toward the hot and humid. Thankfully, the weather is not intolerable yet. I want to avoid putting in my air conditioner for as long as possible. A minor part of this thought is the electric bill. Of course, when the AC is humming for hour after hour, the ineludible Con Edison bill goes from an inconvenience to a burden. But it's more than that.

My view will be blocked by the clunky machine in the bedroom window. After all, the bedroom is where I spend much time -- here at the desk, on the computer, writing. I read in here. I listen to music. And, of course, there's the other central purpose of the bedroom -- sleep. The living room and adjoining kitchen go without the AC. I'd like it if I could afford it, but a cold living room is not a necessity (though sometimes it feels as if it should be).

It's about disconnection. Once I've placed the unit in the bedroom window, there is the sense of severance. I am sealed in. No more opening the window. No more box fan blowing the outside in. The view is gone. I am in a box that lends itself to an increased feeling of isolation and solitude. I know, it's all psychological, but those feelings exist. I need the AC to remedy the heat, and to keep a degree of rationale and sanity while the city endures the swelter of summer. But the trade-off is the idea that I have just completed my own cozy, comfortable cell. As if I don't already cut myself off enough from the outside world whenever possible. Self-imposed exile. A provisional gulag with chilled air.

I don't want to miss myself too much. I need to feel as if I keep a connection to the flow of life, even if I only observe through an open window.