The Summers Of My Discontent

It is currently 97 degrees at almost 3pm with another 6 degrees to go to reach the projected high.

I dislike hot weather very, very much.

My cats are flat, the windows are closed and the air-con and a mega-fan are on at full blast.

I need to go pickup a prescription, so I am going to have to get into the hot car and turn the air-con in there on full blast also.

And when I park at the pharmacy parking lot, I will rush into the air-conditioned building and stand in line with other hot pill-poppin’ peeps who waited until the Tuesday after a 3-day weekend to refill an Rx.


It’s that time of year when the babblers in my brain are battling one another, back and forth, back and forth.

“It is so freakin’ HOT,” says one discontented gremlin.

“But be grateful that you have air-con,” says another sickenly sweet angel-devil.

“I gotta get the heck out of this HELL-hole,” pipes up a disgruntled goblin.

“But you have it pretty good here,” says another sugary voice.

And so it goes….

This is the 16th summer that I’ve endured the tragedy of over-the-top heat both inside and outside of my tired brain.

When the weather is cooler, it’s like, “Lah-Dee-Dah…it’s all good.” But when the thermometer spikes over 90, the war begins.

The only thing that “Climate Change” means to me is when spring gives way to summer in the Central Valley. I don’t need to look at the big, “global” picture…I’ve got enough “Climate Change” right outside my air-conditioned bunker.

I was raised in SoCal where basically there was no difference in the seasons. Every night of the year it was a good idea to take a jacket with you when you went out because, well, you never knew….

But here…you always KNOW….

So moving to this hotbed of heat took some getting used to. I never was a Girl Scout, so I had to learn all new survivor skills.

Things like water bottles, hats, sunblock, sunglasses, shorts, flip-flops, shaving my legs and shade took on whole new meanings for me.

And so did air-conditioning. It was never a concern in SoCal (unless you lived in the San Fernando Valley) — no need for air-con in the house or in the car. The best air-conditioning was at Santa Monica Beach.

But HERE…well, surprise, surprise, surprise. I had no air-con in my car when I first arrived on the scene — I literally thought I was gonna die. I mean, like, really, DIE….

All the heat-seeking bodies in town are thrilled by the glare of the sun and the prospect of baking themselves by the river or out on the patio.

I, on the other hand, have already started counting the days until the hot rays of despair give way to the gentle chill of autumn.

The angel-devil whispers that the climate will change again as it always does. And the gremlin-goblin mutters and moans as I vacuum up the cat fur of summer.

©July 2011 by Phyllis J. Hanniver


About pjh95811

I am a writer and poet living in California. I love cats, dogs, nature, poetry, spirituality and the Pacific Ocean.
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