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I have written extensively about my hatred of hot weather. Because it ain’t just “hot” in the south. It’s humid. Sticky. Oppressive.

It sucks. “Hate” even seems too affectionate a term.

And there’s nothing like starting a Monday morning, with a crazy, busy day and week ahead, taking the usual painstaking efforts to look like a professional with coifed hair and a good makeup job, only to walk outside, crank your car, and see the low tire pressure light blinking at you.

It takes approximately 3.7 seconds for me to begin sweating upon walking outside in the mornings after the sun has risen. It takes 3.8 for my hair to begin to curl and frizz and for my makeup to start to feel like a wet mask.

I. Hate. Mississippi. Summers.

One day, I’m going to either live somewhere with a mild summer, or I’m going to live near a beach where it is supposed to be hot and there is always a breeze. Either way, I’m not going to live in this climate forever. I vow it. I swear it. I’ll write my name in blood on an oath or whatever to make sure it comes to pass.

I’ve been somewhat brooding since I woke up. Mainly because I didn’t want to GET up, feeling like I was just entering the good sleep when my alarm started sounding.

I also have a lot on my mind. Those things I mentioned in my last post that I am pushing away from me? Yeah. I’ve been thinking about them.

And thinking about them.

And thinking about them.

In addition to new, equally unpleasant and anxiety-producing thoughts.

Don’t feel sorry for me. Please.

Don’t send “hugs” or whatever. However well-intended, they would not be well received. I really don’t want to be rude, but frankly, it’s too damn hot for that shit.