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Seattle Center, PHOTO: Sarah Lofgren

What I Imagine Being A Heat-Loving, Deranged Weirdo Is Like

An exercise in empathy

It’s hot. It’s too hot. And there are a lot of sane folks out here, sweating and swearing and complaining our guts out on social media like God intended.

  • Time to fire up the oven! 500 should do it to roast these chilaquiles I whipped up myself. I just get so juiced when the sun’s out! More salsa? Oh, definitely more salsa. What’s a summer day without a few ghost peppers? How about some hot coffee to go with that? MOOOAR!!!
  • I step out into the 110 degree day in jeans and a light jacket. Maybe I’ll break out a tank top if it ever ACTUALLY gets hot around here. I high five a dung beetle that seems to be dying on the sidewalk for some reason. Maybe I’ll jog to work.
  • At work the air conditioning is way too high. I hate these people so much. I open the window and hide beneath the electric blanket I keep at my desk. My sun lamp keeps me from murdering anyone.
  • During my lunch break I find a cafe without any umbrellas to shield me from the sun. I tilt my head upward and close my eyes. The sun caresses my face, reassuring me that I do exist, I have meaning and worth. Only the sun understands me. Only the sun loves me.
  • I call Elon Musk and convince him that Mars is very yesterday. The moon is eight million years ago. The future is the sun. He funds the first human expedition to explore the sun and I AM THE PILOT! I will have to learn how to drive.
  • At last I can be with my true love. As each day passes, I see it up there, waiting eagerly for my arrival. Soon, my love. Soon.

Written by

Engaged in inadvisable wordsmitheries and other creative acts.

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