I spent my morning running errands on another classicly wet summer day in Christchurch. It wasn't great, but I was comfortable. I was doing my life like normal. To put it another way, my daily routine wasn't disrupted by the weather today. That was great. Life seemed pretty okay.
My totally content state would be disrupted. That's a generously polite way of putting it as well. I was given a right backhand slap by Christchurch weather. It genuinely felt as though this city found my happiness and comfort a laughable offence. It let me know this like a mother turning on a bedroom light to brashly wake up their happily sleeping child. I didn't even have an "oh it's starting to warm up" thought. I just went from being warm in my jacket to melting as I attempted to tear off every secondary layer I had on. In honesty, I think Christchurch, the city itself, has it out for me.
The more I live in this city, the more I become convinced it hates me. Not the people, but the little things like the weather. Those things must just hate the sight of me. It wasn't so bad, until I knew I didn't have a spare shirt and would likely smell like sweat for the rest of the day. Other than the awful things (like the weather) about this city, I think it's okay. I'm willing to be the mature one and move on. I don't appreciate the attempt at killing me via part-sun, part-oven, but that's okay. I have learned a valuable lesson once again. Never be content with the current state of Christchurch weather because the Metservice is always right. It predicted this outcome. I feel ashamed that I didn't listen.
Time to go shower my sweatiness away.