The Chickens Laid Fried Eggs

After a long, uncomfortable, sweltering week, I have finally emerged from my basement bunker, Modern Philosophers.

It was disgustingly hot in Maine this week.  I’d love to go into details about just how hot it was, but this is not a meteorological blog.

I will say this though: Remember that saying about it being so hot you could fry an egg on the sidewalk?  Well I got so delusional from the heat that I was positive chickens in Maine were laying fried eggs.


I know what you’re thinking: Austin, you already complain so much about the cold and the snow, so how can you hate the heat, too?

First of all, this is my blog, so I can complain about anything I want.  As long as I do it in a manner that is either humorous, or thought provoking, so as to not upset the blog’s overbearing Board of Directors.

I bet those stuck up suits weren’t a fan of this week’s heatwave!

The thing is, extreme weather conditions bother me.  Right now, there’s a storm rolling in so there is a nice breeze blowing in through the open windows.  I’m in shorts and a tee shirt, and I’m very comfortable.

If the weather could stay right about there, I’d be fine.

I also love football weather.  Give me a brisk autumn day, and I’ll be content.

But when Mother Nature goes to extremes, I’m not having it.  Not only does it make me feel all gross and uncomfortable, but it also messes with my routine.  It was impossible to sleep, I couldn’t go on my runs (because it was too hot and I was too exhausted), and I was even crankier than usual.

I know it’s hard to believe I can reach new depths of grumpiness, but I can set personal records when the weather gets like this.

So I hid out in the basement bunker where people don’t have to deal with me (an exciting twist since I usually don’t want to deal with people) and it is much cooler.

Because sleep was still eluding me, I finally resorted to taking Melatonin.  It always helps me sleep, but the side effect is crazy, vivid dreaming that I can’t seem to shake.

The other night, I had a dream about my ex-wife that felt so real, that when I awakened, I expected to find her in bed next to me and a wedding ring on my finger.  It took me a good five minutes to convince myself I’ve been divorced for a very long time, and The House on the Hill was no longer haunted by her presence.

Maine, heatwave,

So I have emerged from the bunker because the thermometers told me the weather was more acceptable, and the barometers promised a storm.  Yes, I have multiple thermometers and barometers in my basement bunker.  You’re the one who’s weird because you can’t say the same.  And you probably don’t even have a bunker.

The weather report looks promising, so I plan to be above ground for the weekend.  But I don’t intend to do much more than catch up on sleep, remember how to run again, do a ton of writing, and watch baseball.

I hope things are cool wherever you are, but if they’re not, enjoy the fried eggs!

About Austin

Native New Yorker who's fled to the quiet life in Maine. I write movies, root for the Yankees, and shovel lots of snow.
This entry was posted in Humor and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Chickens Laid Fried Eggs

  1. markbialczak says:

    We were in Cape Cod when the heat wave began, Austin, and you betcha New England was ‘a sweltering!

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