Oh God the Humidity...

WHY IS THE KETCHUP BOTTLE DRIPPING?!  If you're used to this horror, then you have my sympathies.  I've lived in the desert since aught four and I forgot how horrible humidity could make life.

We're in an RV park at an Elks Lodge in Beaumont Texas, which is a stone's through from Louisiana.  We've already seen signs calling swamps 'bayous,' though no gators as of yet.  There isn't a cloud in the sky.  WHY IS EVERYTHING WET?  It's not that hot, but just hooking up the sewer hose made me drip so much I could have squeezed out a half-gallon from my shirt.  Don't even ask about my hair.

All kidding aside--everything hurts.  The knee where part of a bone cancer was removed feels like it's swollen up to a soccer ball.  I'm having arthritis in my ankles--I never knew I had arthritis there.  My mom can't lift her arms, which I'm sure is making her shower right now no fun at all.  My hip has popped audibly, making me jolt with shock.  What is going on?  I'm not that old people--seriously, I'm not.

My best theory is that the moisture from the air has been absorbed by our bones causing them to swell inside our flesh.  I don't care if it sounds neurotic--something is going on here.  Do you remember in the early 1900s where people used to seek the desert air for better health?  I see why now! 

Yes, this whole post is going to be me complaining about the humidity.

When I was young I lived in Texas, as I told you.  After that we moved to Miami.  We didn't even last a year there.  My brother's asthma was killing him.  I remember the humidity of southern Florida with horror.  You could write your name in the moisture clinging to the walls.  There were fog clouds in every ditch, like a mini-weather system.  I hated how a short walk would leave you drenched. 

This was when I was a perky child who had no health problems.  Now I seriously can't deal.

Give me the desert.  Give it to me for the rest of my life.  Give me scrub brush and dust.  We're going to New Orleans to fly to Puerto Rico (another humid place) and then we're going back to New Mexico to see if this commune will take me in.  It's dry and dusty there--just how I like it.

Oh, and by the way, my 22 year old cat looks half-dead right now, so his old bones are suffering too.