Too Hot for My Own Good.
Humidity has come to town. Last night I had the genius idea to buy a chicken to cook up, then came home and realized I was NOT turning on the stove. We ended up eating frozen pizza (OK, the stove was on, but only for a few minutes), lots of greens, and some corona. Then we set about to watch that Todd Haynes movie about Bob Dylan. I hadn't had a beer for a bit, and I was super sluggish, and it was not metabolizing, and the sluggishness and nonparallel form of the movie and all sought to put me to sleep. I fought it. We went for a walk. My body was acting like I'd imbibed a pound of salt. Everything was sticky and puffy. My wedding ring, usually a tad loose, was cutting into my finger. What the hell? Still, we had a lovely walk, came home, finished the movie, then I crashed on the bed pretty fast.

We are trying to resist the temptation of the A/C. We just barely stopped paying for heat; isn't there supposed to be more than one or two down months? I usually like a little heat, but this time it's turning me into a bitch. It got too sticky too fast.