Friday, July 19, 2019

Bunkering Down As Hell Came Through

At one point during the day at the airport, where records are rendered official for the entire metro area, it was only I think, 85 degrees IRL but, with a dewpoint of, I think, 80 degrees (!!!), the heat index (aka how it actually feels aka the reverse windchill) was, fuck, 115 degrees.  It felt like 115 -- Death Valley, basically.

It was apparently at its worst, around my work and home, between 2, when I had my afternoon break, and 3:30, when I left work.  And goddamn, I could feel the humidity in my clothes and in my bones.  Set the air conditioning in my car to the second-lowest setting (I usually set it at its lowest) so I wouldn't freakin' melt on my drive home.  I promised myself I would rinse our garbage bin of the maggots in the dirty water in the bottom; after that and getting the mail, I was going to open the door, close it behind me, and stay inside until I go to work in the morning.

And that is what I did, even though the Heat Advisory for the area technically ended at 10 p.m.  I spent my afternoon and evening paying my family's bills, eating and taking a nap.  But once in a while I would take a look through a window to outside.  It was sometimes sunny, sometimes cloudy, and there wasn't a raindrop falling from the sky.  But I knew it was oppressively hot outside, and so I feared how it felt, even though I was safe inside.  So weird that such a placid, even inviting, tableau really is unbearable, even dangerous.

I cranked up the AC in the house twice.  It's running now, but maybe I can shut it off for the night.

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