Notes of a Disgruntled City Commuter in August

On Tuesday it was over 35°C, and it was mildly thrilling to work in those temperatures and feel stoic and brave. (Although I still became angry when I felt that the windows and blinds weren't being used to their full effect to keep out the sunlight and let in the breeze.)

But since then, a not so thrilling new routine has been born:

At night I wake up once to three times because of the heat.

As for work... today the temperatures were better. But yesterday, on a semi-conscious level, I kept up a constant internal monologue of 'warmwarmwarmwarmwarm.' Eating ice cream feels less effective than it did a week ago, because it is a small speck of relief in a world full of warmth. I rarely leave the orbit of my desk fan. (Generously given by a human resources colleague.) Of course I am quite pampered with these resources against the heat. But the ability to feel the proper amount of gratitude is dwindling and I choose to blame the weather.

One disadvantage of the temperatures climbing back down from 35° is that, on Tuesday, even all the fruit flies and regular flies seemed to have gone into hiding. I was staggered and amazed, but sadly that state of affairs has not lasted.

In the evenings I travel per train. I have begun to take notes and care about window architecture in the U-Bahn. For example, I caught a boxy, compartmented train this evening. I have finally realized that this type of train does not have windows that can be tilted open on both sides, only on one side. Also, at the beginning of the wagon there is a pair of closed windows. So I step farther back into the wagon, behind the open windows. And yet this evening the cold air of the train tunnels only rushed past the windows without coming in. Also, that cold air didn't seem to help much from the outside, either, because the metal sides of the train are warm to the touch. Then, when the train stopped at a station, a few tendrils of cold cellar air seeped in through the open doors, at which point it merely served to present a depressing contrast.

In short: I have a commute where sweat pours all over my face and down my neck. I have accidentally gotten droplets of perspiration on my bookmark, the book I am reading, and on my t-shirt. And I don't really know how disreputable the other commuters think that this is...

That said, this summer has been nowhere near as bad as the summer of 2006, so far.