Let's talk about.

I’m becoming weak.

In my part of the country, the past two days have been extraordinarily hot. I felt it. My air conditioning felt like icicles after every dog visit to the backyard.

The North and South Carolina coasts are the two places where I grew up. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Crazy people take vacations to that part of the continent as though excessive heat and excessive humidity is good weather. It isn’t. Not even if you’re from above the Arctic Circle, it isn’t. Even those icy souls will get uncomfortable in no time.

Which is to say, even born into it, living formative years in it, escaping to nowhere from it, there’s no getting used to excessive heat and humidity. There is only an early, sweaty death from it.

So when a mini-heatwave happens in a part of the country where there’s three months of summer and nine months of snow and ice, I am particularly offended. I did not choose to make my home in a completely different climate so I could be found by my childhood’s heat monster.

So thanks, climate change. I appreciate you.

Not a great post, folks, and I apologize. I’ll have more to talk about once my dog, Howard, who’s been prescribed Prozac, as been on it a little while. And hey, if it doesn’t work, for him, maybe it’ll work for me.