Hot

It's become hot, here. Very hot, and all at once, coupled with a thick and cloying humidity. I have been dripping sweat for days now. Summer has ensconced Chicago in heat, and I welcome it.
I have a cold beer and a glass of ice water in front of me. At a BBQ last night, I made tequila sunrises for people and napped on a porch after eating a huge meal.
I've been reading Raymond Carver and Stephen Baxter and I just finished an amazing book about pygmies.
Sleeping has become a strange and warm affair since the weather lost the humility that it maintains through the chillier parts of a Chicago spring. My dreams have turned sweaty, and my mornings have been sunny, disconcerting things; my alarm buzzing rhythmically from the direction of creeping sunlight. My dream state has been interrupted too abruptly, two mornings in a row now. The heat slows my mind while the humidity fogs it. I cannot say right now, with exactness, where the dream ends and reality begins. I don't mind it, though. The days and the nights continue. I'll write this and go to sleep. Tomorrow I will wake without an alarm. Good night.