Can't... Blog... Must... Restrict... Movement... Even... Fingernails... Sweating
Yeah, when it comes to hot weather, I'm pretty much the biggest whiner who ever lived. When I moved into the Yale-Owned Roach Motel on Prospect Street in New Haven in August 1996, I considered dying rather than continuing to live in such an inhospitable climate. Six feet under would have been cooler, right? I'm having similar thoughts now. Yesterday was our respite day from the heat--a mere 91 degrees.
Please don't tell me that where you are is hotter. I know that in the grand scheme of things, I would be even more miserable in Texas, London, or even Prague. I don't care. I'm hot now. I'm delicate. I'm allergic to the sun. My Swedish/Scottish ancestry does not equip me to deal with this kind of weather.
The central air conditioning project just moved WAY up on the list.