Yesterday my little brother commented (in person, not blog commenty) that I hadn’t updated in a while.  Frankly, it’s been too hot to spend any time near my laptop.  I could barely stand being in my house last night at 10 pm.  In fact, I couldn’t.  I retreated to the freshly installed air conditioning at my parents’ and my mom’s new imac.  Which doesn’t expell heat onto my lap.

This was, afterall, the weekend where I actually agreed to work extra so I could spend more time in the air conditioning at the library.  Of course, the AC came with a price.  Normally, for the past year or so, staff has been parking a block or two away to leave the limited library parking for patrons.  Then, with the construction next door, they closed off one sidewalk.  Which just meant crossing the street two extra times if you went to get coffee on your break.

Then, they closed off the other sidewalk.  Leaving two options: walk around an entire extra block to get to your car or coffee or lunch.  Or, cut across city hall’s lawn.  The way I see it, they authorized this construction/road work.  In return, their grass gets trampled by hoardes of librarians.  Fair deal.  Right?

But this weekend was extra special.  The temperature was hovering around 100 with humidity at what felt like 90%.  Like being in a gross sauna, where a lot of dirty people had been sitting and sweating.  Anyway, you can imagine.   Add to the mix the Farmer’s Market (a good thing) and this summer festival thing the city puts on (read: carnival rides and a small town parade where the library has a float and people throw candy).  The farmer’s market took over our usual parking lot.  The street where our back-up parking is located was closed for the festivities.  Which means parking at the other end of town (literally.  Although technically still not that far away).

Crowds + Heat + Humidity + Bad Parking + Sidewalks Closed + Proximity of Carnival Rides + A Heavy Book Bag =  Me Thinking “Why Did I Agree to Work?”

I remembered when I stepped in the door with my delicious iced coffee (from the place that used to be across the parking lot and crossing one street and is now two blocks and three street crossings away (one way)).  Blissful blissful cold.

Up soon: the story of how my grandmother may or may not have been Marilyn Monroe’s butt double in Some Like It Hot.

(Not that she couldn’t have done it, but why would MM need a double?)

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