Wind is Just the Universe Farting on You.

12:02 a.m.

The wind howls outside my window, even though I’m trying to drown it out with songs about a girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

I’ve never liked the wind; it is my most detested type of weather, followed by high heat. I especially hate it at night. As a child, I had this irrational fear that the strongest, most ferocious gusts had the power to push the house off its very foundations. Windy nights meant no sleep. I’d wander the halls throughout the night, frequently peeking out the window to ensure myself that all was well. By the time I was a teenager, personal CD players were all the rage and I would play every CD I had in an effort to drown out the noise.

I used to justify my fear of the night winds by saying that I was concerned the fences would be torn down, which was a legitimate fear. Without fail, the Santa Anas would knock our fences down as if they were matchsticks. I became quite proficient with a hammer and nails before I learned to put makeup on.

A few years ago, our fences were replaced by chain link, impervious to even the worst gusts. Even so, windy nights still find me up late, alternating between hiding under blankets or prowling the halls like some sort of shivering ghost in pink sweatpants and an old grey t-shirt (oddly enough, my t-shirt has the words ‘small but mighty’ printed on it. Which, given the current inane cause of my sleeplessness, I find hilariously ironic).

Even at my last two apartments, where there were no fences to cause concern, the winds caused a chill that went deep into my very bones, the kind of chill no sweater, blanket, or even a Snuggie can ward away.

(Sidenote. I totally wish I had a Snuggie. I’d wear it backwards and run up and down the halls saying I was a wizard. Did I just make that information public? Shit. That’s what sleep deprivation does to you.)

Aside from the noise, I hate what the wind ­does. The idea that a force outside your control just gets to show up and throw your life into a state of upheaval, and you have no choice but to wait it out so you can put everything right again.

Thanks to those wonderful inventions we know as the Ipod and noise-cancelling headphones however; I can disregard the inevitable disorder for now.

Instead, four Brits are calling me Little Darlin and saying it’s all right.

For here comes the sun.