So decorum and social graces fly right out the window as we sit and sweat in the darkened house, all lights off to reduce the power consumption in our poorly lit rooms. Seanie, a simple man, favors white undershirts and old gym shorts. I wear tank tops so shrunken that though they once fit my torso they now qualify as "cropped" and ancient cutoff shorts that create a muffin top because I am not the size 0 that I once was in high school. We are not an attractive people, we are frogs on logs.
The fridge is full of rotting food. Things I bought before I got sick, fresh fruits and vegetables gone to wilt and rot because I couldn't stomach them. I need to clean the fridge out, but if I do it now it'll just be a big stinking mess in the back yard because the garbage man doesn't come 'til Wednesday morning. So I try not to think about it.
Some days, I retreat to my parent's house, which is big and well-lit and usually ten or twenty degrees cooler. But their Internet has gone spotty and until that's resolved, all I can do there is read or try to sort through the vast cluttered mess that is my former room. Which is fine, but if I want to do that sort of thing I can also stay put with my husband and save the gas.
It won't really cool down much until the end of next week, so I guess I'd better figure out a way to be productive in spite of the heat. Maybe work on a painting or something.