Heat Wave

It’s been sweltering hot the last few days. I A) have no air conditioning except in my bedroom — a room so chaotic, it’s hard to find the bed; B) am pathologically attached to my living room; C) am on the sixth and top floor of my building; and D) am skirting the edge of menopause.

Outside of my bedroom, if I so much as wiggle a pinky toe, I’m immediately soaked with sweat. So. . .

Mostly, I’ve been staring at my living room wall in front of a fan, trying not to move.

The result?

I’ve had epiphanies:

If I wanted to check myself out at the grocery store, I’d have become a cashier.

I must stop initiating conversations that I’m not well-informed enough to sustain.

Should stop wishing catastrophes on people who crack their gum.

I need to accept that things — cherished sweatshirts, socks, sex toys — will eventually wear out.

Rather than obsessing on where dust comes from, I should probably clean it. 

I’m certain that I was born to surf. (To test this, I’ll take my ironing board into the shower and see how long I stay on.)

The urge to confess:

As a therapist, I care deeply about my patients. Still, there are times I can’t help being amused.

After complimenting one client’s ivory necklace, she told me, “It’s from Thailand, but I don’t know which elephant.”

One young woman said she didn’t find masturbation “a good use of her time.”

Many years ago (God, please forgive me) another client tried to commit suicide by smothering himself with a pillow. Twice, he attempted this. (I’m betting he’s still alive.)

And, on another note, I’d be a pathetic cashier.

Random facts I’ve pondered to keep me entertained:

Days before my wedding (I’ve been divorced many years) I dreamed the reception was in the basement of White Castle.

Recently, I left my boyfriend and cat in my living room to take a shower. Before turning the water on I heard, “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Growing up in Montana, my 87 year old grandmother trudged along a pasture on her walk to school every day. She wasn’t the brightest (yes, I am going to hell) but on Youtube, her gutteral, bovine imitations (MOOOOO!) would have been stupendous enough to go viral.

I told my dentist my favorite offensive joke. He giggled like a schoolgirl.

I took a sample Mensa quiz. Turns out I’m stupid. I wear the label with pride.


Excuse me while I go shop for an igloo on eBay.

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5 thoughts on “Heat Wave”

  1. Kate, I live to de-clutter! I don’t have much space, so I look around thinking, Ok, what can I toss out the window? I’ll have to take your advice!

    Bill, I’m sure I couldn’t afford you anyway.

    Thomas, it was funny but freaky, too!

  2. You should follow my example:

    1. Move from a one-bedroom into a (very nice) studio. This forces you to get rid of a lot of unnecessary stuff. The exhilarating sense of freedom that results is worth it.

    2. Get sick when the heat waves come on. That way you can stay inside your nice little studio apartment with the a/c on. You’ll feel like crap, but you won’t be too hot.

  3. June needs to get out more and no, of course I won’t bill you for the advice!

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