Not A Huge Fan

The Answer, My Friend, Is Blowin' In The Wind...

I've long had a habit of sleeping with a portable electric fan pointed in my direction.  It's a holdover from my days working at a summer camp and living in a tent, where the only way you could get any sleep in 96 degree heat was to evaporate the sweat just as soon as it oozed from your pores.

Now, with central air and a ceiling fan, it's as much a white noise generator as a cooling apparatus.  I've used all kinds of air movers, both box fans and oscillating fans.  Usually they're good for a year or two before they burn out.

They just don't build 'em to last anymore, that's for certain.  I've been looking for one of the old chrome-plated behemoths from the 1950's, the kind that with a touch of oil and the occasional rebuild will still be spinning in 2150.

I've been using a Stanley fan for the past few years.  It's one of the industrial squirrel cage blowers, meant for drying out carpets or airing out musty houses.  It's got quite a good breeze to it, but there is a drawback.

I usually sleep under a light blanket or a sheet, and the air flow can do... strange things... to the fabric.

It's not a rhythmic pattern to the way the sheet or blanket can flap in the breeze.  It's more random, almost tentative at times.

In fact, it can be kind of creepy.  It's almost like something's gently tapping at your legs, trying to get a taste without waking you.

I'm certain one of these evenings, I'll open my eyes to see a cocker spaniel-sized spider using its  pedipalps to smear some kind of icky arachnid anaesthetic on my knees before chowing down.

It's enough to give you the occasional nightmare...