Last summer, over 4th of July weekend, I got the worst sunburn I've ever had in my life. I had second-degree burns on my arms, legs, and chest, all of which were so agonizing and swollen that I couldn't even walk for close to two weeks. It was the worst physical pain I've known.
Obviously I'm not anxious to repeat it, especially given the increased photosensitivity those burns evoked in my skin. And I take great precautions - as my mom always says, "You can't go through life blonde haired with fair skin and not know how to protect yourself."
My year-round daily moisturizer is SPF 15. As soon as the frost date (or a few sunny days in a row), I start using sunscreen as my lotion, which has the pleasant side effect of people smelling me and getting vaguely reminiscent of summer camp or trips to the beach, without knowing why. I don't go anywhere without protective lip balm. I get wiggy if I stand in the sun too long, and if required to sit in a parked car in the sun, I am more likely to roll up the windows and roast than get another sunburn. I'm only a few mincing steps away from wide-brimmed hats and constant sleeves and pants.
So our apartment has a layout like this (click to enlarge):
When we first moved here from the busy traffic of Ocean Ave, I wanted to have the back room be our bedroom, as it is quiet and always dark, and at the time, it seemed logical to have the sun-filled front room as our office. I felt that the 12-14-ft ceilings (we're on the top floor, so they slope up) would make the bedroom feel spacious despite the lack of natural light.
Over time this arrangement just plain didn't work right. It felt like we were sleeping in a cave (albeit a high one) and toiling in a sauna. It became way too easy to sleep away untold hours of the day, as no light came in to wake me naturally. Last night, after talking about it for months, we finally switched the bedroom and the office, and I couldn't be more pleased. The bed is under the window, and suddenly both rooms make so much more sense. It's almost like having a new apartment.
I went to sleep looking up at the glow of city lights over the rooftop, moonlight pouring through the windows, and I woke up with the early rays of the sun illuminating my pillow like a dream, or at least a very convincing sleep-aid commercial. It was just heavenly, and I thought how glad I was that we only had a makeshift scrim-like fabric flung over a bar for a curtain, as the room filled with sunlight.
Later in the day, basking in my new sanctuary reading a book (actually I figured out how to read a book and knit at the same time, but more on that another time), I thought how happy I was that we made this change. I dozed off, content as could be.
I woke about an hour and a half later with the familiar stinging, my skin feeling tight and hot. I was drenched in sweat, and even my scalp tingled, the noon sunlight pouring in much stronger and exactly where I was laying. Confused and feeling like I might faint, I wandered back to where Eric was coming out of the shower and mumbled, "I don't know what happened, I feel like I caught fire," and he suggested a cool shower, during which time it became clear to me that the sunlight coming through the screen window was strong enough or somehow angled just right to have lightly burnt my skin.
I stood looking at my arms and legs in disbelief, and then laughed to myself thinking, really, if anyone could manage to get a sunburn in bed, it's me.
It goes without saying, we went out and got bamboo shades this afternoon.
I'm absolutely whipped. I've spent the whole evening going through boxes and boxes of stuff, sorting papers, throwing things out, making piles to go to other places, and generally facing the disaster of my life here. I had a 6-ft high storage unit packed full of stuff, which has now been reduced to 3 small well-organized baskets, all of which fit neatly on my desk shelves (cleared for the occasion). I've gotten rid of several garbage bags' worth of stuff. I even made a box of gifts and things I'm willing to let go of, but I need someone else to throw out for me.
At the tender age of fourteen, I broke up with my first serious boyfriend (the first time). While nursing a broken heart, I was kept company by my friend Kevin who lived down the street. One afternoon, Kevin kissed me, and I was really conflicted.
