This Will End, One Way or Another

Just when I begin feeling not entirely awful all the time, the heat comes back. It was in the 90s both days this past weekend (and, as I've noted, temperatures approaching 90 degrees make my days intolerable). Now the weather reports predict mid- to high-80s for much of the week. Since (as I've also noted) such predictions seem always to be in error by about five degrees on the low side, I fully expect temperatures of 90 and above, probably beginning Wednesday. Here's a note to the weather schmucks: when your predictions consistently err in one direction, such repeated mistakes might suggest a mistake in your methodology. I suggest you look into it. Schmucks. (If we hadn't already, we can now place weather forecasters in the same category with all other alleged "experts": people who make a living by pretending they have "special" knowledge denied to the rest of us ignorant jackasses. Other members of that category include "intelligence analysts," virtually everyone in politics, economists, and almost all political commentators.)

I've been thinking about writing I'd like to do. I've even scribbled some notes on various topics. Now, again and still, I'm undone by the weather and the prospect of the coming week; on top of my perilously weakened health, it's genuinely more than I can take.

Well, as the title of this post has it, either the hot weather will end, or I will. No, I'm not going to kill myself. Don't need to! That's one of the great benefits of very bad health: if your life has become close to completely intolerable, you don't need to be concerned about ending it by some affirmative act. Chances are it will happen all on its own. All you have to do is watch, and wait.

I wonder how many comebacks I have left in me. I suspect not many. We'll see.

Very sorry for the bad news. Almost everyone seems to want reassurance that I'm "okay." News flash: I'm not okay. Haven't been close to okay for a few years. But I have no doubt that I'll receive a few emails in the next day or two saying how relieved readers are to see a new post and to know that I'm "okay." I always do, no matter what I say.

...

I wrote more, but then decided to delete it. My bitterness isn't at all attractive, and I myself find it fairly repellent. Given the particulars of my life in the last several years, it's a response that I find almost impossible to avoid. So I'll wrap this up.

If it ever gets and stays cool again, perhaps I have a littie more writing in me. Since the writing I've already done has had almost no effect of any kind that I'm able to discern, I don't know why I even care at this point. And in truth, I don't much care now. Merely trying to survive is all I can do.

It's a horrible way to live. As far as I'm concerned, it's not living at all.

P.S. Despite the above, I remain very grateful for the great kindness a number of you have shown. I warned you that donations might prove to be a very bad investment. Unfortunately, almost all my predictions here have turned out to be accurate. I suppose I should hope I'm wrong this time.

Okay: I hope I'm wrong. I'll check in again when I can.