I hate summer

"How are you surviving in this heat?" chirped the HR lady conversationally at my new job this morning as she looked over my medical insurance form.

It was all I could do not to burst into tears. The truth is, not well.

When I say that I hate summer, I say it without the slightest bit of irony or sarcasm. I honestly hate the summer. I cannot deal with the heat and humidity. (And it's not just because I live in Virginia - when I lived in New York, it was actually worse because of the city's general lack of central AC, heat from the underground subway system, and the fact that you walk everywhere. It was seriously one of the reasons I decided to leave.)

The heat makes me constantly cranky and tired. When there are week-long heat waves, like right now, I actually begin to feel physically ill during certain parts of the day. My constant efforts to hydrate myself leave me feeling bloated, and the fact that my charming little apartment only has one window unit means that I am practically confined to my bedroom when at home. Even my cat has been behaving differently - hiding under the bed, waking me up when I try to sleep, and meowing crossly when she wants something.

I daydream of hibernating until fall, allowing myself to fall into the deep sleep that my body craves all day long. I can't even bring myself to enjoy little pleasures like reading my cooking magazines, because since it's too hot to even be in my kitchen, much less use it for anything other than ice cream storage, seeing all of the new recipes just depresses me even more.

How many days until September?