I’m sitting here listening to the hum of my air conditioner. It’s a hum I’ve heard consistently all day. This sound is accompanied by a subtle--almost unnoticeable--whir from the blades of my ceiling fan. It’s not quite 9 am and the overcast skies beckon me out for a walk. I grab my phone to check the current temperature outside. It’s 98 degrees fahrenheit so a walk is out of the question. As the mercury climbs quickly: 11, 115, to finally 120 degrees by 5 pm; I’m sitting and once again asking why am I still in this place? Why haven’t we packed up and moved yet? This conversation plays in my head every. single. summer that I’ve lived in Arizona. Occasionally, my husband and I have had talks of leaving but we couldn’t agree on where to go.
This time is different though. Finally, after ten years of misery (on my end)t, my husband is finally ready to leave. In good faith, we’ve even booked a hotel and rental car for a trip to “scout out” a new state/city in the next few months. Last night my husband looked at me and said, “Hopefully, if anything, next summer will be our last summer here.” I replied, “By next summer do you mean summer of 2018? Because if so, I can’t let my mind think about that possibility. I can’t imagine going through another entire summer here in this desert wasteland.”
Let me make a disclaimer now: I am starting this blog to have a place to allow my brain to scream out loud while I’m stuck here. Arizona is a state of unique beauty and the sunsets are second to none. However, this is not a place I want to consider as a permanent home. I’m not going to sugar coat my experience living here. Feel free to disagree with my thinking--and we can agree to disagree if you think Arizona is an awesome state in which to live. So how did I come to HATE living in Arizona? I’ll detail this in another post.
