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07/30/2004 Entry: "Running Hot."

"The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."

I am eating though I am not very hungry. The clock tells me it is time to eat, so off I go to my curry and naan. When Outlook makes a bing, I drop my fork and have to run, dabbing the spicy sauce from the corners of my mouth.

I'm finding myself lightly sweating all the time. I can reach back and find the back of my neck wet at any moment—right now, cradling the phone with my shoulder, I can feel that the collar of my "Overclocked" tshirt is soaked through. The fan in my office is turned up to high all the time. After two and half hours in the same meeting, it's hard not to let tempers flare. Projects all come in at high priority. My to-do list swells. And i try not let hot tears of frustration steam my glasses.

I even woke up the other morning drenched in sweat; I took a warm shower to try to cool off. As I toweled off in my room, I heard the thermometer beeping in the bathroom; the Roommate padded out and went back to bed, nursing a fever.

It might be summer, but it's always cool in San Francisco. So instead I'm having the heatwave on the inside.

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