This is Southern California. This is summer. This is summer in Southern California. And it’s fucking brutal.
It crept up slowly. In fact, I was beginning to believe that we might get lucky—that we may get to enjoy a mild season under the sun. Afternoons were warm during our hikes to Eaton Canyon (where we took glorious refuge in splashing our feet around in the populated water under the falls there) but it felt nice. And it felt even better as the sun began to sink and a cool breeze descended upon Los Angeles and its neighbors.
But then, the breeze went away and the heat grew stronger. It beat down on our house—baking the walls, sucking the life from our tomatoes & strawberries & herbs. Sucking the life right out of us.
We lay around like sunburnt slugs, dripping. We flop between couches and the floor—growing angry and despondent; occasionally throwing the middle finger and a few FUCK!’s in the sun’s general direction. What else is there to do?
I’ve taken to filling the bathtub with the coldest water the old pipes in our building can muster and I crawl in and splash around. I close my eyes and dive my face into the water and create little air bubbles. I’ve also grown quite close with our freezer—stuffing my face inside and pulling the door closed. The ice-cube trays and I have gotten a lot of face time lately.
We’ve thrown a mattress on the floor in hopes of getting nearer to the window (and coincidently, nearer to the fan). I think that it gets us closer to a good nights sleep. We eat ice cream for every meal and drink water faster than our Brita can filter it.
But this is summer in Southern California and despite what they might tell you, the beaches are far & palm trees only look good in pictures. And it’s fucking brutal.