Looking for something on the shelf, I came across my '98 paper diary. The late 90s is a blank slate in memory. I could tell you one or two events in summer '98 and some more in the spring of '99, but generally '97 to mid 2000 left no footprint. I see why. The diary is a record of depression and reverse culture shock: dispirited reminiscences of Japan interspersed with mopes over the difficulty of writing. Utterly bleak. But then I remember that my paper diaries were for venting, not recording. (There's that to be said for online diaries; on the down side, those tend to disappear without warning.) And indeed, the events I remember from '98 make no appearance in the pages. It's rare for me to look back at a time and think how much happier I am now: but oh, how much happier I am now than I was fifteen years ago.
Also, yes, it is hot, but not as hot as it could be. I think the post-menopausal body may have cooled a bit because the heat feels like it did long ago, and not the hammering onslaught it became in-- well, the late 90s for sure.
