Heat

I have never, ever been this sensitive to ambient heat, ever, at all. Whoever coined the phrase "bun in the oven" did not choose their words at random. Denver has decided to grace us with 80+ degree weather over the last few days and I find myself cowering in the underground levels of our lair, a cold wet washcloth lasting only minutes on the back of my neck, daydreaming about slurpees and swimming pools (both of which are attainable if I'm willing to brave the heat to get to them). It's also so very dry here, no matter how much water I drink the relief seems to dissipate so quickly that I'm -- dare I say it -- looking forward to the humidity in Connecticut, where at least I won't have to work quite so hard to hydrate.
In a month or so when I write an entire entry about bloating and sweating and frizzing, I'm sure I'll rue those words. But right now, with this wriggling radiator strapped around my belly, a little airborne water sounds just fine to me.