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I have to slick my hair back from my face like it’s the freaking 80s to even sit around and type because I HAVE A FAN BLOWING RIGHT IN MY FACE. If I don’t slick it back it just flies everywhere and distracts me. My “Kinda Terrible Techno” station on Pandora (LoA, Benny Benassi, Daft Punk, NIN) is cranked so I can hear it over the box fan that’s three feet from my head and there’s squeaky ass ceiling fan getting in on the ambient noise action.

Needless to say, by 80s I’m referring more to stretch pants (I loved those things) and giant bangs, not the temperature. I would in fact love for it to be in the 80s instead of pumping up into the 90s each day.

As far as the dog goes, there might as well not even be an outside. It’s just too goddamn hot for him to run around. He goes out to pee and comes back in all pink and panting. Two tosses of the ball off the porch at night and he flops down on the tile all broken and shit. At least that’s what my husband and I say after he’s still there huffing away five minutes later.

He’s rubbing his jowls all over the floor, and all those fingery looking bits are out in full force trying to help him cool down. You know the bits I’m talking about–the ones that look like secret sea creatures. My husband and I help him cool down by saying stuff like, “Is it too hot for bull hounds?” and “Are you broken beast?” We’ll also rub a washcloth on his chest. Mainly though we don’t exert him in the day beyond eating and shitting.

My main point is, it’s too hot for the bulldog, and it’s too bloody hot for me. I came up here earlier to write and all I could muster was: It’s too hot to think. I went back downstairs.

My husband touched my leg, and I was like, “No,” and then I touched my leg and I was still all, “No.” Like, nothing unnecessary can touch me right now, and all that’s necessary is the couch and my laptop.

I tend to go to bed later than my husband. Normally the dog is sleeping on the bed, but lately he’s been flopped out on the floor. I creep along in the dark, waiting for the motion activated nightlight to come on, which it doesn’t, because there’s 100 lbs. of dog in the way. Eventually I stick a toe in his mouth and then the light comes on because he jerks, and all of a sudden there’s this giant white dog on the floor.

Anyways, I tend to go to bed later than my husband, and when the weather’s like this, I stay up way later than necessary, because I know I’m just going to be tossing and turning forever. I wake up still hot and half-asleep. Nothing much happens in general. It’s really too hot to think.

I know, now you’re wondering why we don’t have AC? It’s not something that’s feasible for this house (uninsulated). Maybe, someday, we’ll get something for the bedroom.

I’m actually kind of missing my job. Science labs are generally on the frigid side of things. Although, I would have to sweat in the heat to get to and from there, because I rode the bus. Even if the buses are air conditioned, there’s the skulking around on hot pavement part.

I can’t even think much beyond disjointed ramblings about the heat. Maybe I should try and write some poetry to capture the disgust I feel at sitting here, doing nothing, and just sweating. A haiku, and for my nature imagery I’ll use stink bugs.

One thing I do know though–I’ll probably want to go see a movie this weekend, just for the AC. You know, go old school. I think Guillermo del Toro, who did Pan’s Labyrinth, has a new movie out and Charlie from Always Sunny is in it. I don’t care if it’s a giant robot movie, del Toro is freaking awesome, and I bet it’s actually worth seeing in a theater.