If I wish really, really, REALLY hard, can I make it snow?
I’d give just about anything for a freak June snowstorm right now. (I was going to say “I’d sell my soul” but just in case there really is a Devil *and* he’s reading this blog, I don’t want to give him an “in”. Plus, he’d just make me suffer through even more heat when he finally got my soul and that would just suck.)
Trust me, if I had that kind of super power, you’d all be digging your way out of foot-deep drifts this morning. (Feel free to thank the deity of your choice.)
My hair hasn’t been dry in days and I’m having vivid flashbacks to my Paxil days. I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours a night in that same time and I’m punch drunk (and, believe me, I’m not a happy drunk). Even the office isn’t a respite — how can an air-conditioned office still be damp? Isn’t making it non-damp part of the whole “conditioning” thing? Granted it’s a step up from drowning in sweat, but clammy is still pretty gross.
And I woke up this morning with a summer chest cold, which isn’t helping the whole hot and humid or clammy thing.
Blah, blah, blah, whinge, whine, sniffle.
(Off-topic aside — overheard in the elevator at work this morning:
young guy 1: “Did you know Michael Jackson died?”
young guy 2: “Really?”
young guy 3: “We should start a vigil.”
young guy 2: “How are we expected to work after that news?”