Reset Forty-Three, Day Thirty

The heltery-sweltery, bloody awful hot day: beaten up by my bedding then hung out to drip and never dry, I dragged my miserable carcass about while my brain, shriveled to the size of a raisin, screamed No NO NO! Due to doing my part to reduce the threat of a power outage I'd raised the thermostat to 80 degrees, and the misery was palpable. I've gotten so first-world in my old age. Outdoors, at 111 degrees, felt like an actual oven. It put me in mind of pizza, which I suddenly craved, but I didn't order one.

When dinner became unavoidable I made a sandwich again, after which I grew even more lethargic, and on the verge of collapse following the task of taking the wheelie bin across the parking lot's expanse of radiantly sultry asphalt to the street, I fell onto the bed and slept for another three hours, until just past midnight, and so Monday died and I did not. Now Tuesday gets a shot. I'd say its odds are pretty good. Monday really softened me up for the kill.

Have I mentioned before that I strongly disapprove of this weather? Well, I do. And it will continue for days on end. End. Ominous word.