I'm psyched about this post, because as it's forming in my head, I can see that it's going to be a post almost entirely about the apartment. Which is good, because I really feel like some of my best work here has been apartment-centric (and by "work" I of course mean "aimless self-indulgent drivel").

It's really hot in the city these days. Like, really hot. I was doing my ablution this morning, and realized that I was sweating in the shower. It wasn't pretty. My body is in shock from trying to evolve new sweat glands through which I can sweat. It's so hot, I decided to work on a new party trick - I'm trying to light cigarettes with the sunburn on my shoulders. Right now my problem is keeping my shirt from immolating during the process. What I'm trying to say is that it's hot.

And nighttime only brings light relief from the heat. It gives the illusion of cool, with none of the actual positive aspects (like actually being cool). It really reached a peak a few nights ago - I was waking up every few minutes, tossing and turning, thinking the night had to almost be over when in actuality it had only been two hours after I had gone to 'sleep.' I found myself taking a cold shower at four in the morning (which, I'll admit, isn't the first time that's happened, but it's usually for a different reason).

------------------- Blog Interruption -------------------

Crap. I just watched my car get a parking ticket. That's the worst. I guess it's just karma for that time I watched the two hour process of some guys car getting towed from my apartment's parking lot in Ithaca, laughing all the while. Come to think of it, that two hours was definitely worth the price of this ticket - I knew the guy, and he was a dick.

----------------- End Blog Interruption -----------------

Right, the heat. My point is that under the best of circumstances, making ones bed is total crap. You all know the arguments (they'll just get slept in that night, it's my bedroom, etc etc) so I don't need to rehash them. But these days, there's insult added to the injury of making the bed. It's 120 degrees Centigrade, and I'm putting a blanket on my bed. I have obviously been struck firmly on the head recently.

Which isn't to say that I haven't been toying with the idea of just taking the blanket off the bed and sticking it in a corner somewhere until the first frost, but there's problems with that as well. First of all, I don't have that much closet space in which to put the thing. Sam has the hall closet pretty much full up with golf supplies (no clubs, interestingly enough, but he has over 1 million of those little wooden tees. It's pretty strange, actually). And my wardrobe is pretty much bursting at the seams what with the size of my fabulous wardrobe. (Ummmm... I probably should have used a thesaurus on that last sentence). The other problem is that my blanket isn't rectangular - only two of the 'corners' are right angles, the other end (by the foot of the bed) ending in something of a semicircle. Which means that, no matter how hard I try, I am completely incapable of folding it to be put away. So it has to go on the bed, since that's the only location I can place it properly. It's a sordid tale, and one that brings me no end of grief.