Oh, the heat.

Nice to think of the heat when it's freezing outside. I wrote this while I was living in Kansas City just just before I moved to the milder climates of Kentucky.

It's so flipping hot.
It's hit 100 four out of the last five days. At night it cools off to a balmy 95. The worst part is, I have no means of escape. I work in a tin can office trailer. It sits with no shade, in the middle of a parking lot like an egg in a frying pan. The air conditioner never turns off yet it never gets below 80 inside. It's like trying to cool off a toaster oven with an ice cube, a really little one that you just spit out of your mouth. If I don't let my car air out for a couple of minutes before I get in I swear it would bake my brain. I envision myself passing out on the freeway, the coroner arrives and says, "He's cooked." When I pull into the parking lot behind my apartment doom and gloom set in because I have just entered Hell. The three story brick exterior walls of the building form a three sided, breeze blocking convection oven. The asphalt is so black the unbearable heat could not escape if it tried. Cars are lined up like lava rocks in a gas grill. It defies the laws of nature. The hot air rises no more than six feet; it stops just to hover around your face. Seeking shelter offers no relief. Oh, I've got two ceiling fans, but a microwave has fans. They just move the heat around so there is nice fresh heat all around, not that stale hot air nobody likes. Did I mention that I am an idiot? A person has many options when he wants a cooler house. Buy a window unit, get an exhaust fan, or a box fan. I bought aluminum foil and covered up the windows. Not only is it still hot, I'm depressed! It's always dark! If you want to let in the light you've got to let in the light's second cousin, meet 130-degree solar wind. I have a DVD library, I just bought a Playstation2, but it never occurred to me to buy a fan and point it at myself. I've been dehydrated for two weeks! If skin touches skin, it sticks from the sweat. I sleep with hands and feet at the four corners of my bed. A sheet is out of the question. Anything coming between me and the weak-sauce revolutions of my ceiling fan is out of the question. Sleep is an exaggeration. It doesn't come for hours. The only time the temperature is okay is right when I get up. And where do I go when I get up? To work, where it's hot.