Summertime?

Here I go again, complaining about the weather.

In my hemisphere of the world, December is supposed to be summer. And as a general rule, it is. This morning when I woke up at 6:40am, the sun was out, and it looked to be a beautiful day. And so, when I eventually got ready for my last class of the Summer Session, I got dressed into a square neck, sleeveless top and some teeny tiny shorts.

I can catch some rays during my walk to uni, I thought to myself, braving the chilly southerly breeze in the name of getting my daily vitamin E.

My class was due to start at 1pm, so I retreated to the library to read for an hour beforehand, where I proceeded to freeze. By the time I left, my hands were beginning to display minor signs of cyanosis - which I'll admit, after having had a stroke, is not all that uncommon for me. Once outside, the sunny day had turned grey, and it was beginning to rain.

I continued to get colder and colder throughout the two-hour class, and when it came time to attend our tutorial, it was well and truly a shit day. Freezing wind and rain lashed the campus and my ill thought-out, over-exposed body and feet.

Is it December? Really? It feels like December in Los Angeles, not New Zealand.

Tomorrow's forecast? Marble-sized hailstones. I can't wait.