I unpacked and settled my belongings in my living room last night. That's such a simple sentence, isn't it? La, la, la, look at meeeee. Unpackin' mah stufffffff. This is so funnnnnnnnn. But really. It was more like: oommmmgggg blerrrgghhh sweeaaaattttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt. splat. drip. melllllllllllllllllllt. wheeze.
The level of hot in my apartment reached unprecedented levels last night, just in time for me to unpack some boxes. While I started the process fully clothed, I concluded in a pile on the floor, sweat dripping down my forehead (and back, and legs, and arms...), clad in my underwear, sweat-drenched t-shirt tied above my midriff, and no bra. No, I'm not kidding. Even a little. It was - TERRIBLE.
I toted home a small desk fan from my office yesterday, and sat directly in front of its puny current for a solid 32 minutes until my body was completely devoid of moisture. I was careful not to move an inch, for fear that one pore on my body would dare consider a leak.
And that's exactly how I went to bed. I propped the fan on the coffee table, laid flat on my back on the couch and melted myself to sleep. Because Harley's an asshole, she felt it necessary to do exactly the same, despite our sweltering body heat. So, with one cat snug up against my side, another sprawled along the back of the couch, we three pathetic ladies spent our first night in our new home.
In an attempt to stick it to the man this morning, I got up bright and early to go to the gym. Sure, I ran, but truly only went so I could shower. In a place with air-conditioning. It was blissful. Don't be surprised if I follow this exact routine every single day of my life until the temperatures reach the 50s. Swear to god.