Remember that scene in Spirited Away, where No-Face is tearing all over the bathhouse spewing gray-brown-black guck from eating almost everything in the world, until he starts looking gray-brown-black gucky drippy at the edges and then he starts wheezing and sort of oozing along leaving a trail of himself as he goes?
Well, minus the blughgy pukey part, I am melting into a puddle of human goo. It might not be all that hot here according to the thermometer, but it's really fricking sticky, and the thunderstorms, far from bringing relief, are making everything worse. Yesterday Simon and I lay around limp in bed (poor little kitty, and he has to wear a fur coat every day, and yes, I was one of Dali's wilted clocks yesterday, but it was from the force of heat, not depression) trying not to breathe too deeply, until Dad reminded me that I have a window unit air conditioner which spent the last two years moldering in The State of Denmark (as I worked it into the window last night I wondered why I hadn't installed it in The State of Denmark at all, and then remembered that I was too depressed to put in a window unit. That is really, really sad) and then my parents' garage, so when I first turned it on the moldy reek almost made me gag, but it wore off and then I closed the door, turned my room into a refrigerator and went to sleep.
But the office is sticky, and I want to go sit in a vat of cold water. If the humidity is going to be at 100% I'd rather it at least be cool and refreshing. You can drink the air today, and not in a cool and refreshing way.
See? I told you that as soon as it got humid I'd switch from it's-too-cold complaints to it's-too-muggy complaints. (But I don't like being a semi-solid. You're not supposed to be able to get Sarahs in gel formula. This is all very wrong and unnatural.)
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