I think the weather man said it was record breaking, this heat. (REALLY? I HADN'T NOTICED.)
I woke up this morning fully intending to exercise, or at least get some fresh air, but by the time I had gotten dressed and consigned myself to torturous repetitious lunges and push-ups and treadmills it was as hot inside as it was outside. And but that I mean it was nearly 80 degrees in the house.
It's nearly 90 now. Inside. I asked my brother if the Gods of the Chill Wind were angry at us for something. He collapsed and was unable to speak for the oppressive heat. I suggested sacrificing a goat (they sell them on Craigslist apparently).
So now I sit in a pool of my own sweat, trying to prevent my dog from sitting on me and giving me heatstroke. I try to watch television, but without cable my only options are shows about Judges like Judy or Alex or old black-and-white programs.
I tried to read, for a while. I tried to read The Lord of the Rings, but between the heat and Tolkien's very descriptive account of Lothlorien I began to imagine my house sitting in the middle of an Elven forest. The leaves were gold and flowers bloomed everywhere and it was midwinter and I was actually cool.
|Kind of like this.|
My point is, it's really hot, and I don't know what to do except fill a grocery bag with ice cubes and lay it across my face.