Not even trying to be poetic about how much I hate this
heat.
Well, thank God for air conditioning. And for a short
commute equaling a total of twenty minutes in the fires of hell, driving to and
from work.
Deep, aching cold, midwinter, I can survive in. Romance is
easy to conjure when skeleton trees howl and your ankles ache with seeping
snow.
Ninety-degree heat is just I can’t breathe and I feel like I’m
being attacked and I’m sweating and I might be hallucinating and I just want to
die right now.
Good thing I’m moving to England?
That was very poetic for not trying to be poetic. Also, I agree so much. Can I stowaway to Oxford with you?
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