Every August, Cole Porter asserts that it is indeed "too damn hot" in an endless loop in my head. This year is no different. I know that in a few months I will be focused on the sharp bitter cold and how amazed I am to find conditions quite like that in Mississippi. We are never satisfied with the hand we are dealt.
For now, tho, it is the heat and the humidity that adds to the heat index, the "real feel" of just how uncomfortably hot one can be that is the focus. Here we are, 7pm, and it is 100 degrees in the shade. I am grateful that I have no crops to harvest or labor that involves more than the physical effort of drawing a breath.
For over a month now, I've been struggling to breathe. I had had an infection in my lungs, bronchitis which developed into pneumonia and it takes time for any organ to heal from their irritated state, especially when being used as continuously as lungs are. Now and for the last fortnight or so, the pressing suffocation is more a result of the extreme heat and humidity than the recovering condition of my lungs.
I know that I am not alone in this misery. The entire nation is wilting and melting and draining. But that serves as no consolation, does not lessen my discomfort an iota.
Nightfall brings some relief of sorts, the sun's rays move on to another part of the world and I revive long enough to sink into a comfortable doze of sorts. It is absolutely not wonder I and so many others are disoriented and more than half crazed.
Welcome to my mid-summer's misery.