Heat

I always forget how hot 109 degrees really is, until summer rolls around again and I spend a few days in the desert baking my organs.  If it wasn't for some furniture and art stored in my garage, which is desperately needed to take the generic sting out of my new office, I would have forgone the mini-road trip.  Although my 24 hour jaunt was pleasant, and very productive, it was slightly off kilter.  Last night I went to the local art house movie theater to catch Woody Allen's new flick MIDNIGHT IN PARIS.  I was immediately delighted and comforted by the familiar opening credits, score and cadence of dialogue, and then the unthinkable happened.  The film sputtered to a stop.  We were informed the power was out on the street, and given free passes to make up for the inconvenience.  The culprit: most likely too many air conditioners running at full blast.  I was just getting hooked, settling into Paris in the '20s and boom I was abruptly back in 2011, on a hot desert night.  I loathe the necessity of air conditioning, but given the mercury was still hovering at 90 degrees, l had no choice but to keep mine running.

My morning started with an early yoga class, and a list of errands.  I contemplated going to an  afternoon movie, to see the remaining 75 minutes, but after lunch at my favorite local organic restaurant, I longed for a cool breeze, and decided to return to LA.  Like a skilled mover, I loaded my Prius with four chairs, a coffee table, a painting, three photographs and several odds and ends.   Twenty minutes into my drive I started to feel queasy, and uncomfortable.  The car had a stuffy odor, most likely from the chairs which were dusty from months in the garage.  I turned off the A/C and opened the windows.  The heat flooded in, but so did fresh air.  I tried to sing my nausea away, until around Azuza when my saliva turned sour and my stomach started to rise up my throat.  I grabbed a shirt from my bag, and held it to my mouth.  I contemplated getting off at the next exit, but then envisioned a dirty fast food restaurant bathroom.  Was this worse than when my stomach gave out on a trek to a waterfall in Cambodia?  A toss up I concluded, as I dry heaved through Pasadena.  Delighted I made it home without puking in my car, I wondered what  had gone wrong with the Macro Bowl I enjoyed at lunch.  I opened all my windows, lied down on top of my cool sheets and was thankful to be home.