My little apartment is on the third floor of an old building, which basically means it’s a fucking oven in the summer. I have two window air conditioning units, and I only run one during the day because they are pretty useless and just run up my electricity bill. And I just cannot justify spending that money on cooling my apartment and the centipedes that reside within my walls when I could be using that money for better things. Like beer. And food. But mostly beer.

The second window unit is in my room, and it barely works. I only turn it on when I sleep, though it only minorly eases the heat. (Richmond summers are dis-gusting, as I am learning, and I am looking forward to starting my new job in Blacksburg if only to escape the nasty heat still to come.) I haven’t unmade my bed in a few weeks because it is just too effing hot to get under the covers.

And even sleeping on my bed with no blankets, I apparently get so hot at night I sleep strip. This started last week, when I woke up two mornings in a row to find my clothes scattered across my room. With no recollection of me doing the scattering. The first time it happened, I was mildly concerned. I ran the night before through my head – no, I didn’t have any tequila. No, a strange person did not enter my apartment and take the clothes off my back in exchange for letting me keep my Macbook. No, aliens didn’t force me to undress with their superpowers.

Apparently, I will strip to regulate body temperature. I hope I never fall asleep at work, because it’s really effing hot in this office.