dammit. i had written half of this entry when my browser crashed. i lost everything i had written, which is mostly about how fucking hot it is up in this motherfucker. the dvd player broke today. my computer keeps crashing. the bank outside the coffee shop says it’s 116. it’s hot, people. hot. so hot my cheeks are sweating. all of them. my eyelids are sweating. I’M IN MY HOUSE. the cats look like someone steam-rolled them. they don’t want to eat. ants have come into the house in search of any water, at all, and are happy enough to hang out in all the sinks and near the cat food or near the litter box and why is my life so gross?

it’s so hot that underwear is stupid and hair is disgusting and i want to live inside my freezer and i keep finding excuses to drive places, like today i went to the bank because my brain said, “you know where you can sit for half an hour and not have to spend any money and be where it’s cold? the BANK! let’s go run an errand!” and then i did. and the guy at the bank told me i was very brave for making my way outside to the bank. he really did. called everybody in line superheroes for being able to stand a second out in this oven called the same kind of summer that made me move from the state of Texas six years ago. what the eff?

i have re-enacted scenes from Do the Right Thing in my bedroom, a bowl of ice cubes in front of a fan. i fantasized about buying one of these. We don’t have wall units because our windows are funky and sideways and I think you have to put up a wooden “rob me” panel of wood to install one with these windows and also i’m sure we can’t get it through the door that won’t let pizza through.

“holy crap,” i texted my friend chris yesterday morning. “what time does your pool open?” if he hadn’t invited me after that, i would have broken into his house and jumped into that pool and then worried about making it up to him and his girlfriend later. made them breakfast or something. in the microwave. sara just tried to talk me out of cooking myself dinner. i did it the other night and had to go outside and stay on the porch while i talked to AB for a long time because my house felt like the inside of my oven. why do i cook when it’s hot? because i can’t order a pizza, fuckers.

the heat is making me angry.

last night i went from place to place, air conditioned building to another, pool to movie theater to dan’s apartment, where he and Eric tried not to yawn as I flopped in front of their air conditioning and whined like a baby. eventually i had to come back here, to the sauna known as my home. the one that’s expensive, so i can’t afford to install central air. actually, it’s because the ceilings are vaulted, so if we got central air, giant metal tubes would go across the top of the house like we are some kind of new industrial-craftsman, and i do believe AB would never stop calling my house tacky.

i… it’s… hot…. and…. y’all, it’s so hot.

i haven’t eaten anything since nine this morning. i haven’t been hungry yet. i just keep drinking water and i realize i should probably eat something but i’m just going to have to risk cooking it because i ate all the fruit and vegetables yesterday when i tried not to cook anything.

time for another ice bath.

please send california some ice. this is no way to live.

Comments (