Too hot to blog.
Too hot to move.
Too hot to sit in any kind of position which causes skin to skin contact.
Too hot to sleep.
Too hot to do anything but sleep.
And then I look at Little Fish, who is in the same heat I am in, but wrapped tightly in a body brace and strapped into a plastic chair. And she is totally uncomplaining as the sweat pours off her.
And I think I don't have much to complain about really.