Second day of the New Year, and summer decided to come around and make an apology for being late. It made up for itself with three bakingly hot forty-degree days, and then promptly up and fucked off again yesterday.
Every year I forget just how bad an open cut pit is when it's a hot day. It's like being in a desert. No shade. Surrounded by white rocks and plenty of dust. You're out in it in your mandatory long sleeved shirt and pants and your ridiculous metatarsal boots, sweating a river by eight thirty and wondering how you're going to last the rest of the twelve hours, let alone actually get anything done. Any water you have is hot by midmorning. You're glad for the rule about carrying gloves at all times because everything metal that you touch has become super heated.
I'm not much of a summer person at all. I'm a prolific sweater (sexy, I know) so especially at work my face ends up red raw just from wiping it constantly on my long sleeves. At least with winter you can pile more clothes on and still be able to do what you want (I bet I'll say different when I'm out in it, though). Days like those last three, woah. I felt like I wanted to die but didn't have the energy. Every movement was lethargic. Every movement was downright difficult.
Summer should either be three months off for the entire work force or six-hour days with a pool provided.
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2 comments:
I'd love to sympathise with you, Vic, but it's fucking freezing and dark and wet and miserable here and blowing an 80mph gale. Actually, it's a northerly coming straight down from the arctic so if it keeps on blowing it'll reach you pretty soon and cool things down.
Thank fuck, Dive. I'll gladly swap you!
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