Something like dread.

Something like dread.
As I lay awake last night, fingertips on autopilot scraping uniformly around my three ridiculously huge and burning bug bites, mind useless to contemplate anything but the itching, the heat, the unusual-for-San Diego humidity, the most minute fold and crumple in the bedsheets beneath me in that horrible, skin-crawling zone between sweating and not-sweating, I wonder if it could get any worse.

And then it dawned on me. Tomorrow, I'm going to Texas.

Don't get me wrong, I'm actually looking forward to it. There'll be excellent people there who I sadly only see a few times a year, and then on sunday, I'm meeting up with a sweet and lovely friend who is going to show me the vegan side of Houston. Oh, and she's baking me a pie and hopefully we'll do a healthy bout of geography trivia. But really, I could do without a few more bug bites and a few more degrees of heat and a few more percentages (?) of humidity. (Okay, okay, a lot more percentages of humidity.)

And while we're here, I'm telling you: the "but it's a dry heat" excuse is a bunch of bull. Worst rationalization ever.