So, did I mention it’s hot? My poor flowers are struggling. Heck, I’m struggling. The upper floor of my house, despite having air conditioning, more closely resembles a sauna now than actual bedrooms. Which would be great if I was at the spa. Or if it was the deep of winter. My dogs, who normally beg me to go out every other minute, now just look at me like, “Do we have to? Really?” They spend a lot of time hanging around the water dish. Which means I have to take them out anyway, and we both just whimper a little.

You know it’s bad when you need to run out and get something from your truck in the middle of night…and it’s still eighty degrees and a million percent humidity. When did night become day, just with no sun? There is no early enough court time to make a set of tennis something you can do without keeping the local ERT guys on call.

And cooking….ahahahahahahahhaa. Yeah. I’m not doing that. Besides, who wants hot food? My poor neighbor just rebuilt his entire deck, it’s gorgeous, and front and center is this magnificent grill that George Foreman would sell a George Jr. for. Of course, he can’t use it. It would be like making hamburgers in hell.

I worked at the shop yesterday and it was a ghost town. No one wants to go out. The ones who did brave it (because crafters are dedicated folks, I tell ya) just sort of staggered in–the temps were in the low hundreds with a heat index of the surface of the sun–with a kind of vacant look in their eyes.

My sons have totally screwed themselves, though. They just haven’t realized it yet. They’re working outside this summer. It’s scary hot out there, yet off they go at 5 am, already a zillion degrees humidity, coolers loaded with frozen water bottles, enough Gatorade to hydrate the Green Bay Packers, and cold sandwiches they made and stuck in the fridge the night before (which they eat for breakfast and lunch. I know.) I do not know how they do this, and yet they do, and have been for some time now. It’s enough to make you want to find the Fountain of Youth. What they’ve yet to realize, is that I will now no longer accept the excuse “But moooooom, it’s too hot” when I ask them to mow the lawn.

Ha. I knew there was an upside to this.

There’s a rumor that it’s supposed to cool off today. And by cool, I mean only ninety-million degrees. It was supposed to rain last night. I peeked out back this morning as the sun was coming up…nary a wet deck plank to be seen. Dare I open my door? Dare my dogs get their hopes up?

I’d be happy with just a few cool nights, so we could open windows and let the heat of the day (week, month, century) ooze out of the upper level of my house. So I could sleep without dreaming of packing dry ice around the bed to cool things off.

Is it fall yet?

Okay…I’m all done whining. For now. I totally reserve the right to whine again if I open my front door later and walk into liquid air in an effort to find my morning paper.

In an effort to be more upbeat…. Yay, it’s Dance and PR3 day. Woot! It takes so little to make me happy. Just the thought of Dmitry ripping his shirt off…and Tim Gunn saying “Designers, make it work!” is enough–well, that and a mug of cookie dough ice cream–to keep me whine-free for a few hours anyway.

And hey! The blog babes are knocking it out with this week’s SHaQ Attack question. I knew I couldn’t stump ya. What? You haven’t entered yet? Well, whatcha waiting for? Oh the peer pressure! Come on! If you missed it, check out Monday’s blog post for all the details.

Stay cool out there! And remember, ice cream is key.

Tags: Writing //