“i swear your perfume, babe, is made out of turnip greens”
It has been hot. Like, the temperature in the house has been going up as the air conditioner runs hot. It feels better when the wind isn’t blowing hot. That is, when the wind blows you feel like you’re being cooked alive in a convection oven. As compared to an ordinary oven, which we all know is the better sort of oven to cook in. Unless you’re just trying to get it over with. Hot like this:
On the bright side, when it gets this hot the humidity drops drastically. So, despite being cooked, at least you don’t break into a sweat every time you set foot outside. And my accidental spicy Thai peppers seem to like it, which is little condolence for the fact that the rest of my plants are trying their damnedest to die. A week or two ago i was watering my plants in the middle of the night, as you do, completely forgot that i was doing it, went to sleep, and remembered sometime the next day. At which point…there was not even so much as a puddle where the hose lay, admittedly on low, but twelve hours later!
Oh yeah, and it is supposed to be in the 50s in San Francisco when we get there next week. Like, the temperature there will be half the temperature here. I can’t even wrap my head around it well enough to figure out what to pack.
Anyone wanna come visit? The south’s just lovely.
"Down Home Girl" - Old Crow Medicine Show