Mon 21 Jul
Summer colds are just about the worst way I can think of to plod through a hot, muggy, New York July, though that may be because I started coming down with one on Saturday afternoon. At first I thought I was just completely wiped out by the previous work week, but then my sinuses started drying up and a soreness took hold of my throat, and now I’m sitting here in bed, blogging under the covers.
I tried to make it through a whole workday, but by early afternoon I was already too wiped out and decided to head home. By the time I got there, I felt worse than before I’d left, having baked beneath twenty blocks of peak-strength, midday sun. My clothes were soaked through with sweat and my temples were throbbing with discomfort. Of course, it would’ve been a much simpler affair to hop a subway or hail a taxi home, but I had brought Mister President with me to the office this morning, and New York is not as dog-friendly as it could be.
Speaking of which, a close runner-up for worst ways to beat the heat has got to be ‘being canine.’ I don’t envy Mister President in this weather at all; the poor kid is burdened with a black fur coat that can’t be taken off and cursed with the inability to sweat. As I showered to cool myself down, he more or less collapsed on the tile floor in the kitchen, also wiped out from the heat. He spent the next twenty minutes flat on his side, his eyes barely open but his tongue hanging out of his open mouth as he panted furiously. A friend calls this “scary panting,” and it always makes me wonder if I’ve pushed him over the edge of exhaustion. The heat is hard on the unwell and the four-legged alike.