Southern-ish Discomfort: Sunshine Edition

So imagine here I am, standing by the truck at 3 p.m., keys in hand, staring down the possibility of driving 15 hours to Florida like I’m about to flee the scene of a crime. But the real crime? This weather. Kentucky’s giving frost-nipped nose, crunchy grass, and “where did my joy go?” energy.

I’m a summer girl at heart. Give me heat. Give me sunshine. Please give me that sweaty, salty, slightly feral Florida glow. But here I am, stuck in a state that thinks “chilly” is a personality trait.

Let’s compare the vibes:

Kentucky (a.k.a. The Icebox with Bourbon):

• Mornings so cold I brace myself before opening the door
• Trees that look like they gave up
• Jeans, long sleeves, jackets, and the constant threat of static cling
• The kind of breeze that feels like a slap and says, “Go back inside, peasant”
• Yes, there’s hot tea… but it’s not a beach

Florida (My Spiritual Home):

• Sunshine that greets you like “HEY GIRL” every morning
• Heat that wraps you up like a hug from a slightly aggressive aunt
• Sandals, tank tops, and “yes, I will wear SPF 50 and still get tan” confidence (even tho I can’t)
• Sweat? Sure. But it’s the glow of someone who’s not bitter and freezing
• Even the rain is spicy and dramatic. I respect that.

So why am I not already in the truck, cruising toward my natural habitat of palm trees and poor decisions? One word: steroids. These lovely meds I’m on have me feeling like a squirrel on espresso and also—plot twist—they’ve made me sun-sensitive. As in, the sun I love? The sun I worship?? It now wants to cook me like a microwave dinner.

And not just any microwave dinner. One that someone forgot to poke holes in.

Oh, and let’s not forget—I’m stuck on this wild dose of meds until the very end of this hypothetical road trip. So I’d basically be sweating, sizzling, and snapping at everyone within a five-foot radius the entire time. Cute, right?

So for now? I’m staying put. Not because I love cold weather—I do not. I’m a warm-blooded, flip-flop-wearing, sun-chasing woman. But even I know better than to go toe-to-toe with Florida while my skin’s playing “What If I Was Bacon?”

Call it wisdom. Call it a heatwave on pause.
But don’t get it twisted—I’m only tolerating this chill because I have no choice.

I’m still accepting sunshine, though. In the form of hot coffee, warm compliments, and daydreams of sweating freely without consequences. 🌞☕💁‍♀️

…………Apparently, this was all a lie……………..

Another update tomorrow!