bless the weather

I’ve written a thousand words about the relationship between the sex positive movement and asexual identity this week, but I am not done with that post yet, so it’s on hold for another week. My week as it stands has been nothing but schoolwork, and I do not have anything else prepped to shove into the gap here; so let’s talk about tornado season!

The weather in Oklahoma never knows what it’s doing. I mean, that’s not a meteorological quality unique to Oklahoma – most places in the U.S., and the world, would argue that the weather wherever they are is the craziest. And nobody’s really wrong. Weather is crazy! Invisible movements in the sky that change rapidly and alter everything about the outside world in minutes with no regard for human movement below! Fuck THAT noise!

I’ve lived in Cleveland, Ohio, where everything is steadily warm for a few months, and then steadily cold and gray for a lot of months; weirdness comes in the form of the occasional snowstorm. I’ve lived in Lawrenceville, Georgia, where weirdness is the yearly ice storm that coats every inch of the city in half an inch of glass and no snow at all. I’ve lived in Paderborn, Germany, where the snow fell in flakes as big as quarters that zoomed toward the ground like they were late for work and the sun didn’t come out once for three straight weeks. But none of them is the same weird as Oklahoma.

Take yesterday. I was working, on the tail end of my shift at about 2:30, helping to close up the cafe. My phone buzzed; I checked it to find that my Red Cross tornado app (I fucking love this thing) thought there was a tornado watch going on. That seemed illogical, as it had been bright and sunny and hot and breezy all day.

I went outside to take out the trash, and saw this in the southwestern sky:

Image

welp.

Two hours later, the hail started falling.

Look– this isn’t supposed to be a meteorological dick-measuring contest. I haven’t spent a spring in Oklahoma in two years, and somehow I’d managed to forget this. The way a wind strong enough to push me off the sidewalk feels on an otherwise perfect day – what a hot wind feels like. Also how wrong a sudden cold wind feels when the air around you is stale and baking and the sun is flattening your hair to your head and suddenly it lifts your shirt up from the wrong direction and makes the skin on the back of your neck prickle. Also how strange it is to sweat all day, to hide from the sun inside, and then to step out to get the mail and go back in for a coat, because since last you went outside the heavens shifted and a new front came in and the air has flash-frozen since last you checked. The clouds shoulder each other aside out here, and grumble angrily at each other as though there weren’t enough sky for all of them. They pile up on the horizons to argue, and it’s always us on the ground who lose the arguments.

Yesterday, after the hail, it was cold and sunny for the rest of the evening – a single hour of clusterfuck, much milder than predicted. It’s been in the mid-80s all week. This morning, they’re predicting snow showers.

It’s not about the size of our weather-dick, okay? It’s not that our weather is bigger than everybody else’s (only some of the time) or better than everybody else’s (…basically never), it’s that it’s weirder than everybody else’s. Everybody else HAS a dick to measure, and we have some kind of bulging crawly Homestuck-headcanon tentacle thing. Our weather doesn’t know what to do with us, so it just tries to kill us. Routinely.

On that note: Time to go get ready for school! I’ve admitted defeat; two months ago, I walked in negative-2 degree weather to avoid inconveniencing my friends. This morning, it’s thirty degrees and sullenly spitting, and I’m asking for a ride.

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