You people get TWO Mondays Blow photos for the price of one today, because I want you to understand my misery fully. Today’s Monday blows because it’s 9 a.m. and it’s 80 degrees inside. Circle of hell level elevated to: Ninth.
I’m marginally happier with an ice pack in my bed.
Hell is being so hot that the only relief to be had is lying flat on your stomach on the floor, and even then, it’s kind of shitty and uncomfortable because you still have to lift your head to breathe occasionally, since you can’t breathe through your nose. Hell is being so hot that beds, your one sanctuary, are like cushy furnaces. Hell is having to trot – TROT – across the pavement, which is approximately 9,345 degrees Fahrenheit, in your bare paws to go to the bathroom. Hell is not being able to fall into a blissful coma at 8 p.m. because you have to pant to get cool. Hell is spending most of your time with your mouth open.
My hell is summer.
Anyone who doesn’t believe in global warming or climate change is a stupid idiot. It feels like the world is ending for everyone but geckos and horny toads. We’re not even to the “official” first day of summer, and we’ve experienced days and days of heat close to 100 with little relief. No rain, no cool nights. It is so hot that the state has spontaneously combusted and is burning down. I can feel the ring of fire closing in on me.
This week’s forecast calls for – surprise! – more temperatures in the high 90s and low 100s. Did I choose to live in the middle of the desert? No. So, why do I find myself sweltering and panting and melting in a fur coat? The unjustness is staggering. To get a refreshing drink of water, I have to get up, walk across about 2 miles at high noon, drink, and then make the same trip back. I’m exhausted when I look at the vast expanse that separates me from the water bowl. I’m exhausted on the trip to the water bowl, where I pass the crumbling carcasses of others who have not survived the trek. I’m exhausted and hot when I get back to my spot, and I’m thirsty again. Goddamnit. It would be better to just forego the water and disintegrate into a pile of fur and dust from dehydration.
I’ve considered my options, and they are not plentiful. Move to the Arctic Circle? Too late, it melted. Plus, there are bears. Shave my fur? My age-spotted bare belly tells me that it may not be the best look for me. Fill my bed with ice? Damp.
The heat is inescapable, and the stupid people I live with are too cheap to push the A/C to its limit. There is no little umbrella in my water bowl. I have a limited warm weather wardrobe. Summer sucks. Please send frozen margaritas to:
7 Hell Circle
UPDATE: The air conditioning just broke. I’m cursed.