The Heat Is On

The heat here is unbearable. You say you are going to do so many cool, neat, fun things in the summer ... but it's all a lie. You don't realize it at the time of speaking, but a lie, it most certainly is. All you can do is sit around in your (poorly-cooled, air-conditioner-overtime-working) apartment, and hope you don't roast between the hours of 10am and 8pm.

It doesn't cool off here at night like it does where I am from. It's amazing what you take for granted, like a nice night in the summer when sitting on the back porch doesn't entail two changes of shirts and a long, cold shower before bed.

What I'm trying to get at is that it is absolutely miserable outside. The humidity isn't even that bad ... there's been no rain. It's triple-digits day after day after day with no foreseeable reprieve in sight. So, the discussions of jetskis and river floats and museum-going-Saturdays and even drinks on the patio are shot.

It's all you can do to avoid the lovely "rolling blackouts" the news warns of, and keep enough sunscreen lathered when running errands to not get burned. (No exaggeration necessary.) I don't care what anybody says, I'm living in the tropics.

And I'm not a tropical girl. For now, I can make it through. I can drink my ice-cold water and wear shorts boasting my lily-white legs. I can even put on my two-piece and take a dip in the well-kept pool, ever-reminded that the UV here is different than anything I've ever experienced. Everything is harsher, everything is boiling.

At least we live in a time where electricity runs freely and we can rape the world of all natural resources in our attempts to be as pampered as possible. (Please note the extreme sarcasm.)

One thing is certain: my body was not made to brave these stifling days and nights of hot-hot-heat. I was made for all four seasons, not one, long season spanning without end. And at least if one is going to be this petulant, let it be winter, when the cold can be broken by layers and the snow makes me feel like a little girl.