We're All Damaged

Monday, August 10, 2009

It’s Not So Much the Heat . . .


My wife is one of those people who tend to stay positive about things. If there’s a silver lining buried there beneath the mangled wreckage of some colossal clusterf*ck, she’ll dig it out and show it to me and remind me that I dwell too much on the negative.

The other day, she made me move the heaviest kitchen table in the history of modern carpentry into the basement. It was so soul-crushing in its massiveness that I had to call on my poor friend Wes to help me. When we were finished, both of us crying a little and bleeding internally, she smiled and said, “Look how much room we have now!”

My mother is the same way. Well, sort of. Her approach is to look at something negative and then breathe a sigh of relief because the situation could always be a hell of a lot worse. We were on the phone a few weeks ago, and I was telling her how depressed I am because no one seems to want to publish my novel. Her response was: “I know, honey. But think of it this way. At least you don’t have testicular cancer.”

They’re both right, I suppose. The kitchen is a lot roomier now, and, as far as I know, my testicles are doing OK. However, try as I might to subscribe to their half-full view of the world around me, it’s impossible to be anything other than annoyed that I currently can’t go outside for more than three seconds without immediately sweating through my clothes.

The temperature here in Baltimore today is about 100 degrees Fahrenheit. However, when you take into account the humidity and the fact that we’re surrounded by cement and bricks, it feels kind of like that scene in Indiana Jones where they open that chest and all those Nazis get their faces melted off.

My dog is currently lying spread eagle next to an air conditioning vent, but a few minutes ago I tried to take him for a walk. It’s usually his favorite thing to do in the entire world, but when I grabbed his leash, he looked at me with what can only be described as great trepidation. Once outside, he did his dirty business on my neighbor’s stoop. However, when I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk around the block, he looked at me and said, “Are you kidding me? Go f*ck yourself.”

On the bright side though . . . it is pretty cool to have a dog that can talk.

1 comment:

  1. I feel your pain. I'm in the south and it's been hotter than Satan's asshole this weekend- which for some reason meant that my entire family (parents and brother are in from the UK) thought it was a good idea to go to the beach. Now I am giving training to a bunch of corporate suits looking like a lobster wrapped in wool. OMFG... I am so ready for the fall!!

    Hope it chills out a little your end and the book gets taken soon. Have you thought about doing a self pub through Lulu or something?

    ~Nate

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