As of today, a town outside of Nashville has declared that fireworks are, until further notice, banned due to the heat. This sort of thing hasn't happened in my lifetime, as short as that may be. And as the temperatures crested to 109 degrees - proof that Mother Earth has had just about enough of our shit and wants us all to die - I found myself running towards the bus. Normally, this wouldn't phase me. I'm fairly physically fit, thanks to Jillian's insanity, so the short burst of energy shouldn't have done what it did. I was exhausted, huffing, covered in sweat. It was gross and there were plenty of other people on the bus in the same boat: smelly, sticky people in one small place. I wish I had nose plugs.
Throughout my life, I've always said, "I LOVE THE HEAT MOAR HEEEAAT!" It's safe to say that, yes, I am an asshole. Because I don't like it. At all, especially right now. I just hadn't had the oh so fun experience of living triple-digit areas of the world whose humidity might just match the Amazon.* Mind you, in about six months, I'm going to be bitching about the cold, because it's my thing: I can't stand extremes in temperatures. Three? He loves the cold. I've never seen him happier than when it snowed that one time this past winter. And this heat is just killing him; he's threatening to move us to the Arctic Circle. Although right now, I probably wouldn't fight him.
But anyway, I'm home aka the place where the A/C lives, and I don't think I'm going to go outside again until late September. Unless it's to water my Tomato Babies on the balcony. I can't let them suffer.
* I'm assuming. I've never been. My generalization may just further prove that, indeed, I am an asshole.
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