It’s hot. More than 30 degrees C to be exact.

It’s humid. It’s been hovering between 70% and 90% for days.

It’s been like this since I woke up this morning, and it was even worse in the middle of the day.

I lie in bed hoping for sleep. The fan on the ceiling spins as fast as it will go, but that’s a futile effort. I have another fan right next to me, creaking and whirring, trying it’s best to move the thick oppressive air. There is no relief.

It’s too hot to sleep, too hot to work.

The numbers don’t tell the whole story. Somehow it feels hotter than they’re willing to admit it really is.

So I’ve resorted to aimless internet time. I worry that I’m doing some unseen damage to my eyeballs, to my brain, spending so much time staring into this screen. Ah, the vague incoherence of overheating.

I’m looking forward to that brief part of the day, between 4 and 6 in the morning when it’ll cool off just enough to sleep properly.

It’s slow in arriving.