Actually, I was too hot for school. Too hot to work, too hot to eat (well, I'm never too hot to eat, but let's just imagine), too hot to sleep, too hot to even bum in front of the TV when I was too hot to work!
Hearing all the moaning coming from my southern-hemisphere friends about the bitter cold; the snow in Lesotho causing Bloem to freeze up; the rain on Cape Town's beaches; the frost on Jozi's grasses - I find it rather obnoxious of me to complain about the heat (something I'll choose anyday over the water-drenching cold). But jeepers, when something's hot, you gotta talk about it.
When other Beirutis flock to the air-conditioned coolness of their apartment tiles, I've escaped to the ABC Mall down the road in Achriafieh whenever I need to hit an A/C-cooled store and I just can't afford to have the fourth ice cream of the day (we have a wedding coming up!). Gone are the walks to interviews - I'd rather wait 15 minutes in the shade of a towering wall for a crappy bus to appear than allow my thighs to rub against each other in the sweaty, humid air. Five-litre bottles of drinking water don't last longer than two days, and the hot-water tap is hardly turned when I hit the shower.
And then, like a muscular angel straight from the gym, Irish flatmate's boyfriend deposited two twirling contraptions in our apartment last night, assembling them and placing them in our rooms for heat relief.
I have a fan! It's all over me right now. And it feels good.