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Well, that was exciting, if all things to do with weather excites one.

I woke up at seven a.m., fed the cat, got a glass of water, and noticed that the air conditioner in my bedroom had temporarily lost its battle with the supersaturated air, and was spewing a thin mist into the room. The unairconditioned parts of the house did not feel as much like an ill-run sauna as they had earlier, so I just turned the air conditioner off so that it could get rid of its accumulated moisture, and went back to bed. I was joined by Ari, who made himself very long and tried to push me across the bed with all four feet. I did manage to get back to sleep around nine, after a lot of restless thought encompassing yard work, taxes, the novel I'm supposed to be writing, the general state of the publishing industry, hot-weather cooking, the hideous state of Minnesota and national politics, whether they had actually opened the state parks yet or would have to wait until they had finished their wrangling (they haven't, but hope to do so by the 23rd), why my tomatoes aren't blooming, taxes, which of my sweeties I'm neglecting and what to do about it, and the novel I'm not writing.

At eleven-thirty, when I was starting to feel weird because I was late taking my medication, Raphael brought Jordan in, on the grounds that it was too hot for her in Raphael's bedroom. I got up and checked the Weather Underground site. Eighty-nine degrees, heat index of ninety-nine, do not want, but the new normal.

It was very dark, and about five minutes later a thunderstorm blew through. My ancient weather radio that lives in my office is showing signs of finally breaking down altogether, so I looked at Weather Underground again to see if there was a severe thunderstorm or tornado warning. Not for this part of the county, but it was 84 degrees. If it gets down to 80, I thought, I am opening ALL THE WINDOWS. Five minutes later, it was 81, and about fifteen after that, 73. I ran around up and downstairs, opening windows. I changed the sheets on my bed. It is of course possible to perform this task while the window air conditioner is running, but the sheets were in the dryer in the basement, and the back staircase, which has two south-facing windows and one east-facing window that must, must, must be left open for cats, and in any case has no climate control of any kind, acts like a chimney and is even more like an ill-run sauna than the unairconditioned rooms. Also, squirrels destroyed the screen in the upper window, so it's no longer possible to put a fan there to pull the hot air outside. If I can get the screen out, the hardware store will repair it, but I have a nagging fear that, once there's a new screen in the frame, it will be the wrong shape and I'll never get it back into the window. This is a very old house, the storm windows were never any good and have not improved, and none of the windows is exactly lined up at right angles any more. Since the window is useless anyway, I should take the screen out as soon as the weather breaks, if it ever does for more than an hour.

It's 81 again, and I have to go close the windows. But the hourly forecast for today said it would be 94 by now. Hahahaha, take that, heat wave!

Perhaps I need a cool compress. I hope you are all surviving whatever the day provides you with.

Administrative note: LJ will still not let me post in Opera. It also at complete random refuses to let me comment in people's journals. I have commented successfully in someone's journal, gone in a few minutes later to make another comment, and found that the Post button is suddenly inactive, although it worked five minutes ago. I'm going to post this with Firefox, but firing up Firefox for a one-line comment is sometimes more than I am up for.

Pamela

Date: 2011-07-20 04:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ethelmay.livejournal.com
I am reminded of Kitty Foyle typing in her slip (this was at home, not in the office) and leaving two damp patches on the chair when she stood up. "Anyhow, I wrote Molly, they were symmetrical. I think I'd have stripped to the buff but I was so simple it didn't seem modest, somehow, to sit naked while I was working on Wyn's manuscript."

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