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While standing at the edge of a lake of fire with a rivulet of sweat running down your crack, it’s damn hard to stay positive and think kind thoughts. After this summer, with its hellish record breaking temperatures, I sort of feel like I can put myself in the charred shoes of everyone in history who had the misfortune of being burned at the stake.
I fight the urge to break things when I hear George Harrison’s voice emoting the words to “Here Comes the Sun,” on the radio.
Earth to sun: Go the hell away for a while.
A/C Threatens to Go on Strike
I have a mister strewn up the limb of a tree over my back porch. If you sit right underneath it with an ice cold libation, it does a fairly respectable job up to about 107 degrees. After that, pure hell. You might as well go take a soak in a piping hot bath.
It was this afternoon sitting under the mister, feeling irritable, that I noticed the AC unit was making funny noises, like an evil robot gargling metal.
The mayor of this scorched city has mandated voluntary water rationing. That’s kind of like decreeing that everyone give some thought to doing the right thing. It’ll never work.
The problem is, too many people are watering dead grass. Brown does not magically turn to green by adding water.
The real solution to this problem is for the mayor to pass a resolution forbidding people from being goofy.
Come on, Senator Inhofe. Let’s see you build an igloo now and flap-on about science being a hoax, you smart ass.
When the temperature finally pegged out at 112 degrees this afternoon, I gave up trying to convince myself that I enjoy life and the people who inhabit it.
It’s the best I can do when every cell in my body feels like it is being slow roasted.
Even the weathermen look pissy.
All Ye, Rejoice!
Next Wednesday’s high is only supposed to be in the mid-90’s. I can’t wait!
The A/C needs a day off.