Lest you think I live in a world of bliss and rainbows, allow me to re-live Tuesday for you:
It’s 400 ka-ba-jillion degrees on Kellogg St. (50% humidity and 95 degrees = 110 degree heat index). I am supposed to be packing. I am not. I can not move without melting. I am thinking of excuses to go sit in the laundromat and watch General Hospital. Abe is equally near-death:
I would be concerned that I do not see his chest rising and falling, but I have no time for that. I have to go to the bathroom. The bathroom is in the kitchen (blast these old farm houses). I walk to the dining room. I take a break. I walk to the kitchen. I take a break. I make it to the bathroom door and begin to…uh, ‘disassemble’ my pj pants. Something goes terribly wrong and I create a knot…a seriously tight knot.
I do not panic. I walk back to the kitchen. I take a break. I walk through the dining room. I take a break. I make it to the yellow chair in the living room under a full veil of sweat. Abe is dreaming about snowmen. I sit down and take stock of the situation:
And it is a little funny.