Bad Ideas.

Heat like a breakup: you wake up and you know something's not right, but it takes a few moments for you to remember. I stayed in bed a little longer this morning, pillow over my head, A/C bombing away like it had been all night just trying to pull us back to 72 up there, and I thought: say it ain't so. But it's so. It's happening. Pushing 100 today. Pushing 100 tomorrow. I'm headed out in half an hour to hang soffit vents, because it's possible work for an hour, maybe two, if you can get out and back in before noon or one. That's how it went yesterday: gutters up and then tools put away all before lunch. After lunch we're housebound. Heartbroken. Stuck. Just the color of the light through the kitchen windows looks hot.

In other and ill-advised dogwalking news, friends and fans of heat advisories, a spur-of-the-moment round-the-block in the theoretically relative cool of eighty-eight ten-o'clock degrees is the mathematical and unassailable proof of the above.