Oy Gevalt! The Heat! The Humidity!

I am dripping with sweat. I feel like I am suspended inside the lid of a cooking pot, but I’m just sitting at my computer in my den, where the temperature is 95 degrees, and the humidity is hovering at about 90%. I hate humidity. I hate heat. I especially hate heat when it’s accompanied by humidity, and vice versa. Why am I being punished like this? Maybe I’m in Hell, and just don’t remember dying. One thing for sure is that if I’m not dead yet, I will be soon, if it doesn’t cool off in here. That may be a slight exaggeration. I should have said that I’d soon wish for death if it doesn’t cool off in here. But then, if it turns out that I’m not dead yet, and therefore not in Hell, if I were to die now, and go to Hell, chances are that it would be even hotter there; probably more humid too. That may not be true, though, because if it were any more humid than it is in this room, it would have to be raining, and I don’t think it rains in Hell. If it did, it might put out the fires, and what kind of Hell would that be, with no fire? It would be hellaciously steamy for a while, though. That would be dreadful, but eventually the steam would condense, and there would be puddles, and then lakes and rivers. The River Styx would overflow its banks. Then the mystified, damned souls might drown, but since they’re already dead, that shouldn’t be a problem. Eventually, as the water receded, plants would grow, and in a few short millennia, the whole place would look like a tropical forest. There would be exotic flowers, colorful parrots, and luscious fruit hanging from low branches…

Wait a minute. This is starting to sound more like Heaven than Hell, or maybe the Garden of Eden.

I doubt if an apple tree could grow in that kind of climate, though. However, that would be a good thing. If there were no apple tree to tempt Eve, then the wrath of God would not be visited upon this new territory, and maybe there wouldn’t be a need for Hell.

Now that I’ve thought this whole thing through, I see that the heat and humidity in here might not be so bad, after all. Maybe an orchid will spring from the puddle of sweat forming on my chair. The cold lemonade I am about to drink will taste extra good. And all I really have to do to feel better, is to think of how I felt six months ago, when I was sitting here shivering, with ice-cold hands and feet, cursing winter, and wishing for summer.