So hot...

I talked to Mateo and Shola in the last few days, and both said exactly what I've been thinking.

"I just don't feel like doing anything. I don't know what my problem is."

I remembered, and reminded them, that it's 96 degrees outside. At least it is today. Mateo swears that's nothing, that it gets up to 110. Anyway, it's hot. You shouldn't want to do anything.

Clothes come off in twisted ropes, sticking to your body. Your hair mats down anywhere bare skin is. In the summer, "Haku," or "It's hot," becomes the greeting. I can't imagine that any babies are born in September in this country.

In the afternoons I retreat to my fortress of solitude, a.k.a. my air conditioned bedroom with my Snuggie hung in the door frame to keep the cool air in. I'm too ashamed to pay my electric bill to my friend who collects them, so I've been waiting to go to Villarrica to do it. I don't want them to know how much I'm willing to pay for some cool, sweet relief.

Once I'm in my room I have to stay. Going in and out of a 20 degree temperature change can make your head explode like a deep-sea fish brought up to fast. So I stay in and Oscar's happy to stay in with me, breathing out heavily and saying "Haku che ra'a," something like "Man it's hot."

I still work, here in the fortress. I'm on the 12th episode of the Guaranime podcast, which I can do from home. But other than that, my sweaty roped clothes pile up high, my dishes that I have to wash outside wait in a potential avelanche, the porch needs sweeping.

I'll be here on my bed, the slats of my magic cold box turned right on me, until March at least, available via e-mail, if anyone needs me.