Flehhh!

Heat.

Hot.

Hell.

Too hot to think.

Too hot to write.

98F in the shade, heat index 104F.

Last winter, I was thrown into a panic one morning because my house was so cold, my lips were light blue. Tonight I am going to stand under the shower, letting tepid water flow over every inch of my body until everything turns blue.

I filled the bird bath this morning on my way to work so my bird friends could stay cool. This afternoon, the bird bath was half dry and the only visitors were a dozen or so honeybees lined up around the rim, like parched, dusty-throated cowboys bellied up to the bar in some bygone western saloon. I've never seen that before and was amazed when they stayed put while I poured cold tap water into their shot glass. The clover they usually visit for nectar this time of year has dried up, turned a golden brown, just like most of the grass.

Haven't had to cut grass for almost three weeks, and shouldn't try, as dry as it is. Not healthy for the lawn - or for the person pushing the mower.

As hot as it is, and as miserable as we all are feeling in this unusual heat, can't help but wonder how peoples in desert areas get through this kind of weather. Makes me feel like such a piker for complaining.

Time for me to do my midnight rain dance, wherein I strip to the skin (except for flip-flops), put a couple of crow feathers in my braids, take a skillet and metal spoon outside behind the garage (where I can't be seen) and whail the tar out of it.

Doesn't bring on the rain, but it makes me feel better to do it. I just have to make sure I get back in the house before neighbors look out their windows to see what the heck all the noise is about.

Damn, it's hot!
...
(I edited the shower paragraph because the original was tacky, to say the least.  I think I'm going crazy with the heat.  Or, I'm having a personality meltdown...maybe both!)