If You Can't Take the Heat...

I think I am dying. No, seriously, I think I am. From heat stroke. When I walked into my work building this morning, I thought, “Gee, it’s not really that cool in here this morning, is it?” But I figured, hey, it’s Monday morning, maybe the air hadn’t really kicked in full gear from being off all weekend, you know? Then I got up to my office on the 4th floor. Guess what? It is like a friggin OVEN in here. No joke. Apparently the new convention center the village is building down the street from us has somehow affected OUR building’s computerized “environment system,” and therefore our HEAT was on. According to the thermomenter in Satan’s office, it was 89° with a 48% humidity reading when I walked in at 8:30. (Kind of funny, in a way, because now it really IS like working in hell.) They have been telling us all morning (“they” being the building management employees who answer our phones, give us our mail, and are supposed to keep us happy) that the problem “is being taken care of,” but the lowest the temperature got was 84°, and right now it is up to 87° again, and it is almost noon.

I wonder if I have all my effects in order at home? My poor baby, what will she say when she calls here after school and finds out her mother died from heat stroke? Geez, that’s not even funny. I really shouldn’t joke about that. But I REALLY think the heat is getting to me. And it doesn’t help any that I am sitting here in jeans and a heavier t-shirt, either. Had I known, I might’ve worn my bathing suit. HA! Like I would really wear my bathing suit to work. Not. But I MAY have worn capris or something, you know?

M, on the other hand, is just sitting here enjoying the heat immensely. To her, this is comfortable. She is the one who is always freezing when the temperature goes below 80°. Personally, I don’t understand that, but to each his (or her) own. And now Satan just called and asked me about the “heat situation.” Funny thing is, he asked me what I knew about it, so I told him, then he asked what they are doing about it. So I told him, “Well, they offered everyone bottled water and ice…” Which is true, but I don’t think that is what he wanted to hear. So he told me, “Ok, then I will talk to them and handle this.” Which KILLS me, because really, what does he think will happen? Does he HONESTLY think that when HE complains about this, all of a sudden the air will MIRACULOUSLY come on full-blast? I mean, it’s not like the other 50 or so people who rent space on our floor (and the other couple hundred or so people in the BUILDING, because it IS the whole building that’s affected) haven’t ALREADY been complaining? Oh, Satan, your God-complex is so paradoxical, yet amusing.

Anyway, I am hot, and I can’t concentrate anymore. If the air comes on, maybe I will try again later. Or not. No promises. Oh – I also was informed by my daughter that I no longer have to use a blog alias when I refer to her. Apparently she relishes the thought of fame. So no more will you hear about “Roxy,” form now on it will be all about “Lexie.” Good thing she doesn’t know some of the things I write about her may be less than flattering to her 10 year old ego.

Ok, seriously now, I’m out. And if there are no more blogs EVER, you’ll know why.