Most people would be all "Pharon, why don't you leave your house and go somewhere cool? Or, say, turn on the air conditioner in your room and post up in there?" Well, for starters, I like to be a martyr. How will everyone know the extent of my suffering if I don't constantly complain about it? And? Being in my rapidly emptying room is depressing. So, I'm sitting in our 88 degree living room, in the dark (I'm no scientist, but I think the lights are heating up the room too), and periodically dripping ice water down my face.
This heat has me going mad. I hopped in and out (and in and out and in and out) of a freezing cold shower tonight. Then I wandered around in my bathing suit for awhile, pretending I was at the beach. When that didn't work, I considered putting on my giant winter down coat and sweating it out. Then, when I took it off, it'd feel like the Arctic up in here. Just looking at the heavy coat sent my sweat glands into overdrive though. This place is just too hot. Straight up.
So you can imagine my reaction to the last-minute call from my landlady informing me today that she would be showing our
Fine. Have it your way. Best of luck you, too. There's no way a normal human being would walk into this steaming pit of crap and be all "This is my dream home! I must rent this place, like, yesterday!" Psht. Your loss, Last Minute Lucy. (Note: Her name is not Lucy. I have no idea why I said that. Blame it on my Heat Mania.)
I've taken all I can take, though. I'm giving in to the sweet temptation of a chilly room upstairs. But let it be known that I have lasted this long. I'm pretty sure you can send the info into the Guinness Book and they'll get right on inducting me as Bravest Person of the Year.