A slow slipping away

Sushi leads to somnambulatory domesticats.

A day of chores and errands shifted course at four p.m., when the phone rang. “We are craving sushi. You should come with us.” I hung up, made quick arrangements, and met up with the crew for a 5:30 dinner date.

I only know of two places in Huntsville that serve decent seafood. Both are, in essence, equal quality. However, in the past, Edo’s has taken over 45 minutes to bring me a simple order of nigiri sushi. On the other hand, Miyako is less glacial and has dollar sushi nights on Mondays.

To Miyako we went, where I downed variously small and tasty tidbits of barely-deceased tuna, salmon, shrimp, and other fish I shan’t name in the name of decency. Plus rice, and miso, and plenty of ice water.

I came home and watched a movie with a tired spouse. Now it is 9:40 and I find myself thinking, “I shall go read”—in that particularly colored thought that means, “I shall get a book, curl up in bed, and drift off to sleep ten minutes later.”

Yes, that’s the ticket—a slow slipping away from words and pages to drooping eyelids to sleep. My eating habits in the past week have been poor, and it shows in my energy level. Hopefully in a few more days, I will be back up to normal.

Not helping matters: summer is preparing to unleash itself upon us. The potent, slow boil of summer heat and humidity takes time to work up a head of steam. Today the haze and the steam lay close to the ground, never quite burning away, even in the heat of the afternoon. The sky stayed the hazy white of the most humid of days.

Only for a while did I venture outside today—to administer a dose of cool water to my potted plants. Any more, and I would have been more exhausted than I am now. Afterwards, I closed the front door and stood, barefoot, under the living room ceiling fan, letting the recirculated moist air dry the outermost layers of sweat.

It is going to be one of those summers, where October comes like a gift of cool water, and the plants perk up and breathe a sigh of relief.

Until then: ceiling fans, shorts, light-colored clothing, and—most wondrous of all—cool showers.

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