Too hot to handle

     A friend sent me a message yesterday asking if I had any thoughts on the heat wave. Thoughts? After three straight days of record-breaking triple digit temperatures, I had some thoughts. Oh yeah, I had some thoughts. Firing the old cranium up to 105 degrees seems to have that effect. Just lying around thinking was about all I had energy left to do, and I had about as many thoughts on the heat wave as a rabbit had babies.
      First, I thought it was hot.  I mean H.O.T. Hot. Hot, hot, hot. Visualize hell, Hades, earth burning, molten lava, oxygen-licking white hot flames, melting flesh, smoldering embers, black ashes. Hot. Too hot to handle hot.
      Secondly,  I thought it was too hot to talk, too hot to move, too hot to cook, too hot to eat, too hot to swim, too hot to go outside, too hot to garden, too hot to shop, too hot to write, too hot to read, too hot to drive, too hot to sit,  too hot to do most anything. I felt like a slug on salt, just melting away into nothingness, leaving behind a slimy trail of what-used-to-be-me.
    Finally,  I thought it was a good time of year to hibernate, sort of like a reverse polar bear kind of thing.  Instead of crawling into an icy cave to escape the artic chill, I was going to crank the AC up to maximum potential, crawl under crisp clean sheets with a ceiling fan rotating on full blast overhead , pull a frozen ice pack over my eyes, and snooze away until remnants of some tropical storm blew a cool  trade breeze into town. I planned to put the old sweltering body on snooze-control and glide through the rest of July, ease into August, and fully wake up yawning and stretching only when September arrived with cooler temperatures and a promise of autumnal bliss.
    Night, ya'll. See you in September.