Everything is hot and sticky in Toronto. Even our apartment is sweating profusely…. the walls, the baseboards, they’re liquifying like a Dali clock. Our ceiling fans whir and spin about in vain; they spread dust more than anything. Every window in our apartment is wide open; they let in the white noise of construction from that dreadful condo across the street. Yesterday I had to listen to one worker whistle that theme song from Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs, along with Beethoven’s 9th, all day long.
To beat the heat of another sleepless night, we strung up hammocks in the backyard. We installed them the only way we could: one end tied-off to the back porch, the other end to that giant maple tree where the racoons live. At about 5am I woke up and bailed on John. He appeared to be sleeping rather comfortably. Unlike his meshy, open-air hammock, mine cocooned me in on all sides. It was like sleeping in a nylon embryonic sac, or in the belly of a whale. It was weird and cold and uncomfortable, and I figured I had lasted long enough to count the experience as a to-do, so I bailed. I totally bailed. Brought out a blanket for John, then headed back to bed, where I slept soundly on sweat stained sheets and pillow cases.
That same morning I woke up to find John snoring beside me.