warm night

It has been said before: I am not a fan of these warm summer nights. Oh, sure, it is nowhere near as warm as where my younger sister resides voluntarily—the AridZone, where her city is at 99° at this hour—but here, in northern California, when I take an evening shower and do not feel the need to dry off with a towel afterward, it is too freaking warm. The thermostat reads 83°. Eighty-three freaking degrees inside this house at 10:20 p.m., while the outside temperature is supposedly 65°.

There is something very wrong about that.

Hurry up, fall! I miss wearing my hoodies already.