The Texas summer isn’t for the faint of heart, but whether you live in the Lone Star State, or somewhere else that pushes the thermostat to its limits in the hottest months of the year, you undoubtedly seek refuge indoors where the convenience that is modern air conditioning makes the heat more bearable. If–for some inconceivable reason–you lag behind the twenty-first century and don’t have air conditioning, you can seek solace in a public building such as the library.

And yet for many years I found myself in neither position. For a while I lived in a house that had horrible A/C and my room was the farthest from the unit. This meant that, during the winter, my room was an ice box and, during the summer, it was an oven. Sitting in my room felt like I was being slow cooked over a fire, not all that dissimilar to what the witch in Hansel and Gretel did. It was a day in, day out torture.

hot-texas-weather-dallas-texas

Why did I not go elsewhere you ask? Surely I could’ve gone to the Library, or even to a friends house for a few hours. I’m socially inept and had no friends, save for a few people I interacted with at the university I attended, four miles from my house. And while my social skills may be spotty, even I know you can’t simply waltz into a stranger’s house and occupy it for several hours. What about a library? Surely I could’ve sought refuge there.

Nope. I was in the same position as with my university. The library was also four miles away, requiring me to walk along a busy road and over two major hills to get there, not advisable hiking conditions when the thermostat is reading one hundred plus fahrenheit.

And so I suffered. For the first year and a half I endured the oven-like effect in my room. Being skinny as hell helped and I drank plenty of water, but I was using a stop gap measure as a long term fix. This might’ve continued if I hadn’t had a light bulb moment that I
should’ve occurred at the beginning. Solution: GET A FAN! The one I purchased was a blue rotating unit, similar to ones that you see on the receptionist desk in those nineties movies. What blessed relief! My room still let me know that it was summer, but I no longer felt like I was being cooked.

My room is my personal space, a place of refuge when all hell breaks loose. But until I got that fan it was a place I had to endure, not a place to relax. Now, when I look back, I’m simply glad that I only put up with it for a year rather than the five I ended up spending there.

DISCLAIMER: Some of the imagery in my my posts is not mine. I do not own them and have no artistic claim to the imagery.

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