Crikey!

Great googly moogly, have you BEEN outside?! I'm not one to make small talk about the weather, but me oh my is it toasty. I don't even mind the heat generally, but when I sweat through my t-shirt unpacking groceries, what is a boy to do? Well, if you are this boy and live on the 3rd floor of a house that sits directly on the bowels of hell, you make like a banana and split. When the temperature gets above 80 degrees, my room rivals the world's foremost greenhouses. Stale air sits like soup and suffocates my tiny fan. Sometimes I try to balance the fan on the foot of my bed and sprawl out accordingly. This is usually enough to keep the sweat rivulets in check, as long as I remain absolutely still and take shallow breaths.

More often than not I avoid my room entirely and simply pretend we have no third floor. I calculate whether my tent can fit on the porch or how much shriveling the human body can endure if I decide to sleep in a full bathtub. In the past, I've found the best defense is eating enough freezepops (1-2 boxes) to reduce my core temperature 5 to 10 degrees and induce a semi-conscious hibernation state. This followed by 4-6 Ambien in quick succession usually do the trick. Of course, if I wake up at any point, this entire process must be repeated. Lately, my route of choice has been introducing myself to someone with an air conditioned apartment and feigning paralysis/heat stroke. Not the most dignified route, but in July, dignity takes a back seat.