It's so hot out. I can't express to you how hot it is out right now. Like, it's so hot out that I've been inside, with air conditioning, for the past 10 minutes and I still can't think about anything but how damn hot I just was. How much residual heat it feels like there is, still sitting there, in my ears and under my skin. I don't know. Maybe I have a fever or something. It's 85 degrees Fahrenheit right now, where I am. Is that hot? I'm sure there's someone from some other part of the world (probably Texas) who would tell me that it's basically winter for them at this temperature. I don't know if I'm also really tired (pretty sure I am) or overwhelmed from work (maybe a little bit) or hungry (I've had a loaf of bread and some ice cream today) or thirsty (I've had three cans of coconut water and nothing else) but the heat right now is like the camel was one piece of straw away from breaking and you threw on a whole nother bale. (Does straw come in bales? Is that just hay?)
And I spent all day calling business professors about the strike at Market Basket. My article should be out tomorrow, I might link it. Basically, it's exhausting to try and write fairly and evenly about my feelings on a consumer boycott (read: lots of folks loudly recommending that individual people go shop somewhere else maybe, but nobody organizing clear, specific methods of getting folks in poverty the food they need so they can join in) and a worker definitely-not-a-strike-nope-nosiree-don't-use-the-'S'-word-here, all entirely focused on getting a rich guy his job back, because he generally leans towards giving the employees benefits.
And it's too freaking hot out.