Nothing makes my morning more than that hot, sticky feeling that forces me out of bed to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. I particularly enjoy that lovely feeling of dread at oh dark thirty when my conscious brain hasn't quite kicked back into first gear yet. My subconscious, bitter about having to deal with the heat all night while my rational brain and I are blissfully asleep thoughout it all, decides to trick my conscious brain with dreadful images of my body spontaneously decomposing into a pile of steaming alkaline dust, held together like clumping kitty litter by the sweat on my skin with nowhere to evaporate to.

My conscious brain, now gripped in fear at these gruesome images (and not quite "with it" yet), nudges me awake. I, having not changed locations significantly or opened my eyes in a little over 4 hours, am rather not in the mood to be tricked into stumbling down two flights of stairs in the dark. I relay a message in a series of well-honed grumpy-old-man emotions to my sub-conscious that it would best just stop causing trouble and send me back into my favorite law enforcement dream before I get crankier.

My subconscious disagrees. The antagonistic bastard reminds me how much I'd very much like to pee right now.

Damn. It's right.

I hate the heat.

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