Scorching Sunny Summer Days

This is another one of those posts where I ask you to take an imaginative journey with me. Here we go then:  It’s one of those rare mornings when you wake up alert and refreshed, ready to take on the day ahead of you. You have work or school today, but who cares?  It’s nothing you haven’t done before! You’ve had a great night’s sleep. You feel calm, cool, collected, and charismatic. (Perhaps I’m being overtly optimistic, but let’s pretend, shall we?)

But as you are aware that you have a very busy schedule, you quickly throw yourself into your morning routine, furiously brushing your teeth, showering in record time, scarfing down a granola bar, and packing up your belongings.

When it’s finally time for takeoff, you take one last look in the mirror thinking either, “Man, I look good!” or “Well, this is the best it’s gonna get,” (I sincerely hope it’s the former) before valiantly charging out the door.

But all at once, time stands still. The air is so hot and thick that it feels as if you are wading through warm syrup rather than air. You squint so that you can maintain your bearings and vaguely estimate your proximity to your car, but the sun’s oppressive rays rudely intervene. Still clinging to your fading optimism, you shield your eyes and attempt to move.

As you take that first faltering step forward, you find that you are no longer in the familiar surroundings of your front yard, but in the fiery heart of the Sahara Desert. You have no time to consider how or why you got there, but are only forced to accept the terrible fact that you are. You feel the baking heat seep into your skin. Seeing yourself as a woebegone traveler trekking through the desert, you envision voluminous sand dunes that would be quite picturesque if you weren’t so thirsty.

All at once you see a glorious, shining vehicle of salvation. You quickly jump in the driver’s seat, turn on the engine, and allow the cool air currents to flood over you. A few minutes after cooling down and greedily finishing the remains of your warm water bottle, you start to regain your senses. The Sahara Desert? What was I thinking?

Once again the same, level-headed person you were when you left the house, you shake your head in disbelief at the terrible heat and your narrator’s fanciful imagination and drive off to have a wonderful day at work.

Where am I going with this terrifyingly vivid tale? I’m just trying to explain why I so heartily despise oppressively humid and sunny summer days.

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