| I'm not exaggerating about the ass sweating. I am sitting on a towel so that the cushion on my seat doesn't get soaked. I have a fan pointed at my chest and another at my legs, and still I feel sweat rolling down my back, the backs of my knees, on my ankles when I cross them under the table. Papers taped to the wall flutter madly, and yet I can not be cooled. This is New Orleansin August. 100 degrees and 100% humidity and when you can't afford central air, you deserve genuine pity.
So I am planning on spending most of tonight somewhere else but here, hopefully drinking a little. For now I am blasting Red Hot Chili Peppers Blood Sugar Sex Magik. I have to. If there's music playing and I'm dancing a little, even if it's just in my chair, I don't feel as bad about sweating so much. At least I'm doing something. There is nothing more depressing than sitting perfectly still and sweating. Nothing you can do will alleviate it as long as you're in this spot. You can sit in a tub of ice water but when you get out, the fans will dry you up and you'll start sweating all over again.
This fucking sucks.
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