It’s hot here. Inching toward 100 degrees and, according to the weather geniuses, likely beyond. Happens every July. And yet I am still surprised at how I grouse about the temperatures. How I forget that the act of walking from the grocery store to the car will melt ice cream (which I don’t need to buy anyway) and can cause me to need a shower even though I’d taken one just before leaving the house.

Someone said–maybe Will Rogers?–that if you don’t like the weather, just wait awhile and it will change. That’s the truth, isn’t it? What I’m complaining about in July, I’ll wish for in January. That little nugget of truth doesn’t just apply to the Tulsa temperatures. What I’m complaining about now, be it too much deadline and not enough time to write or just the opposite, is what I’ll be wanting the next time around. So, what’s a person to do?

Bask in the heat. Call it your own personal sauna, if you must. Remember that cold and dry weather wreaks havoc on skin that I’d rather not wrinkle any further. Recall just how good that second shower feels, even if it has to be taken in the middle of the day. And know that when winter comes, I’ll have memories of summer. Memories and pictures.

And as for that time-deadline continuum? Until Dr. Who pays me a visit with the TARDIS, I’ll put fingers to keyboard and do what I do best: write. And I’ll try not to complain, though in the time it has taken me to write this, the temperature is now 101.

It’s hot here.