Right now I am sitting on the couch in only my underwear. There is sweat dripping down the crack between my boobs, and I’ve added a nice, wet, sweat patch to the back of the couch, even through the towel that I’m sitting on. Today was the hottest day in Sydney since record keeping began. A sweltering 45.8 degrees (114.4 F). The temperature gage peaked even hotter where I live, at 46.5 degrees (115.7 F). I’m not even joking. Luckily this is not the U.K., or thousands of people would have died from heat stroke.
After running 5.5 kms at the gym this morning (because obviously I am stupid), I came home to my hot box of an apartment and put the fan on. Usually that helps some. Not today. I turned the fan on and was met not with delightful cooling air, but with the feeling that I had just opened an oven. Did I mention that I don’t have an air conditioner? I don’t have an air conditioner (please refer to the before mentioned statement of stupidity).
The minute Daniel woke from his nap, we high tailed it to Grandma’s house to bask in her air conditioning. But, we did have to return home, and now I’m sitting here sweating up a storm. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to sleep tonight, but I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Thank goodness it’s only supposed to be 25 tomorrow (77 F). Pacific Northwesterners are just not cut out for this sort of heat.
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