Now is the summer of my discontent.
This is the time of year that I loathe above all others. While people in non-desert locales complain of 80-degree temperatures mixed with (arguably heavy) moisture, the people of the Sonoran try desperately to avoid passing out in 108 degrees with little relief on the horizon. It’s especially difficult this year. The heat came in like a fire bolt. Frankly, none of us would survive here without the miracle of modern refrigeration. But even with that comfort, I am a miserable, dried husk of a person. I’m made even more miserable because that is not my normal state. I like to move. I like to explore. And I like having possession of all of my faculties. Summers have longer days, but it feels as if time has been sapped from us. Some people adapt better than others. I’ve been here for 20 years; I’m working on it.