Audrey complains about the sticky, hot heat in the big apple.
Holy jeepers, it’s hot out. All of a sudden, it went from nice, springy weather to brain-boiling heat. Despite growing up a San Antonian, I do not do well in the heat. I almost fainted walking to lunch this morning. I felt sort of funky ever since I went yesterday to my class at the gym and found out that not only was it not air-conditioned, the heat was on. I don’t see how people can do that hot yoga. I was sliding all around the place I was sweating so much.
Then today we had to take the cat to the vet. After schlepping the carrier all the way to the vet’s office (which is near our old apartment) we learned that their a/c had broken yesterday and won’t be fixed until tomorrow. I have no idea why they didn’t just close the place down, but the humans were absolutely soaking in sweat and the animals looked miserable.
Poor Elliott got so hot that she started doing this weird panting thing with her tongue sticking out and her mouth pulled into a Joker-like rictus. They gave us one of those lunch box cooler packs to try and stick to her stomach to keep her cool while they examined her. Of course she was shedding everywhere and soon we all had gross cat hair stuck to our sweaty arms and faces. The vet was like, “Maybe you should take a car home so she doesn’t get heat stroke.” Yeah, thanks. Maybe you shouldn’t charge us full price since you nearly killed our cat.
Anyway, my point is that this year, like every year, summer has come upon us all unprepared, and it completely sucks. I just got up from a nap brought on by sleepiness from the two days of dehydration. Frank doesn’t have air conditioning at his new office, which I don’t know what the hell they’re going to do to survive that. Right now our poor little home unit is chugging pitifully along, semi-cooling a tiny chunk of our apartment.
Suddenly the enormous above-ground pool that my landlord has literally taking up his entire back yard doesn’t look so funny anymore. I’ve seen them out there happily bobbing in the cool water, barbecuing dinner and playing with their foam noodles. I am jealous. And sweaty.
This is the time of year when I start thinking that people are crazy to live in the city. A friend is visiting from California–a friend who lived here for eight years before she moved to finish a PhD–and she definitely seems a little wilted and uncomfortable. At breakfast this morning, while I was attempting not to faint, she was like, “I forgot how much work it is just to exist here.”
Between a really busy season at work, the constant stuffy nose and crappy feeling I’ve had from my allergies, a sort of ongoing stream of bad news, and now this soul-sucking heat, I’m feeling a little worn down. I’d take a sick day but that would mean spending it sweating in my semi-air conditioning.
I love the city, but I dunno if I’ve got the energy to face another sticky, gritty, dirty, sweaty, disgusting, can’t-sleep-cause-it’s-too-hot, can’t-work-cause-it’s-too-hot summer.