What I like about Tucson is the heat, and the weirdness that the heat brings.
But, where is the heat this year? I feel almost sane, and that's insane!
I should be two-cacti-to-the-wind by now. My eyeballs should be chaffing. My chaffing should be on fire. My mind should be a cheese-melt. Instead, it's been in the 90s. What is this, Encinitas?!
I want my mind bent! I want to hallucinate! I want heat waves; mirages!
Once, in June, the rear-view mirror of my 1980s Chrysler LeBaron flopped down from the heat; the grease in the ball joint simply lost its viscosity, and the damn thing went limp. And, once, my Tupperware utensils snapped in half. I couldn't believe it! I didn't think Tupperware (registered and trademarked) would simply snap in half.
This season, however, has brought wimp-weather! I can still ride my bike without thinking about skin cancer. It's been downright spring-like, and I'm hardly a prune. Is this symptomatic of Global Cooling?
Of course, by the time I finish writing this, it'll probably be 120 degrees, and I'll be walking around downtown, going insane, imagining a giant Day of the Dead martini glass full of antifreeze and tequila ... oh, yeah ...
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