I am, I fear, only hours away from either bursting into hot, public tears, or from active hallucinations.
Honestly, I can’t tell which one I’m rooting for. They both have their draws.
Temperatures in the Great State of Minnesota, ladies and gentlemen, the part of the country that brought you the forecast for “wind chill”, snowfall that will collapse a domed football stadium, and Prince, is in the damp, red-faced embrace of a heat wave.
Mid- to upper-90s for two weeks.
Sales of talcum powder are booming.
I cannot, however, afford the amount of talcum powder required to make the nights bearable.
You see, I have no centralized air conditioning.
Oh, I can hear you now, you cool, comfortable people.
Horrifying! My dear, how DO you live?
You should get Central Air! Dude! It makes sleeping totes easier!
No Central Air? Whadda youse? Crazy?
That’s right. I have reached the point where the people in my head with access to centralized air conditioning have taken on distinctive voices.
I rationalize, of course. Tough it out, lady, I say to myself. You grew up without air. Don’t be a baby.
The things I say to myself in response, however, are horrible.
Really. You should hear me.
The truth is that I am not completely without technology. There is a window unit being used, an appliance called upon to struggle valiantly against the odds of cooling even the rooms that have not been closed off; and while the second floor of the 110-year-old house I live in is cooler than, say, the street, one finds oneself getting two, three hours of sleep a night.
One finds that that is not enough.
Look. I enjoy the way I can close my eyes and actually nod off in the cool, fluorescently lit confines of my cubicle as much as the next guy. I’ve become fascinated with what I believe may be the sound of my hair growing and have, even, a fascination for the imaginary bug bites that I insist on scratching.
Heck. I think I may even be developing a facial tic.
Anyway, I thought you should know.
You know. Before the hallucinations set in.