The Grit.. The Grime... A Tropical Summer

Today was the kind of hot, tropical day that makes you wish you lived closer to the beach... when you sit in front of your fan, tongue almost lolling out of your head like one of the four dogs who sit outside your door because they wish they had a fan like yours, and still the sweat pours and seeps from your pores, from pores you didn't know you had, and every time you touch the back of your neck to catch a droplet of sweat, your finger comes away with a layer of grit and grime that maybe came half from the dusty, dry-humid air and half from you yourself. And you sit, sticky and damp and moist, until you have to get up and do something. When you make it back to your fan's soothing puddle of air current, you are no longer moist. You are pooling and puddling and resigning yourself to the fact that this is how it works... and pretty much willing to swear lifelong fealty to the fan.

Good news is, for you this is normal. Everyone else carries around their own sweat rag and has a sweat spot similar to yours. And so despite all the aforementioned measures... you hardly even notice beyond commenting to your friend, "It seems awfully hot today, doesn't it?"

On days like today, you are grateful for your shower that finally comes at 10p.m. because it means you can relinquish the grit and the grime and wash away the weary worries and sweaty stickiness and fall to sweet sleep under the beautiful breeze of your best friend, the fan.

Long live electricity.