2:30pm and truth be told it’s too hot to still have the house open.
Doesn’t matter; I’m stubborn about it. Throw open the windows and throw open the doors. Raise the blinds and turn on the ceiling fans. Doff your longpants and don some shortpants, consider something that “wicks.” “Too hot” be damned, what do we know from “too hot?”
For one thing, I love the fresh air. You close a house for a few days and the air starts to feel “stale” to me, breathed to many times; recycled through dusty air vents too many times; stagnant. It’s a psychological thing. I also like the idea of being miserly and not running the air conditioning.
Hundreds of years ago the land where we live now was home to a Native American tribe that built stick-huts to shade themselves from the heat of the day. Sometimes they’d dig down into the ground a ways before erecting the structure to increase the cooling capacity. I feel like, if they made it through these 100°+ days with a dugout stick teepee, I should count myself lucky. Somehow, thinking about the days those folks fared naturally makes me even more loath to trip the thermostat.
Sharaun, however, thinks that if the Indians had AC they would’nt have been so dumb as to not use it when it was hot.
She may have a point.
Goodnight.
Also written on this day...
- diving - 2018
- a burp about my hot dog - 2009
- he that hath an ear - 2006
- dreaming of murder - 2005
- I shaved for you - 2004