the water is boiling

Summer has, at long last, arrived in Montreal.

And it is simply way too hot and sticky in my apartment for woman or cat right now. I don’t want the weather to change, I love it too much, I just so do not feel like setting up my giant beast of an AC (I say with full awareness of how, in so many ways, privileged my problems are). It isn’t exactly the re-installation that I’m worried about, it is taking it back down in November, after I will inevitably let it be too cold for too many weeks before dealing with it, that I’m trying to avoid by just not setting it up in the first place. It was a bitch last November; I am still not over it.

Josh told me about his knee injury and my response was to talk about how tragically fucked up my own right knee is, still, 6 years after it crashed into the ground, shattered like a mother fucker, and decided not to recover. I didn’t realize until 40 minutes and three new topics later how self-involved I’d been though our entire conversation. Josh didn’t seem to mind, or at least he didn’t seem bothered. One day I’ll tell you about mine and Josh’s failed attempt at a surfing trip and you’ll understand why we will mutually forgive each other most things for the rest of our natural lives. We have a bond.

My French teacher told the class 2 levels above mine that his English is as bad as my French. I think it is hilarious that he gave me a shout-out in another French class. Also hilarious is him thinking what he said is true. His English is far superior to my French.

I had a goal of focusing on French right away, of learning the language. I am putting it off the same way I’m putting off the air conditioner. I am sure I will continue to put it off the same way that if I ever do get the AC up I will end up suffering through 3 weeks of cold before taking the AC down again in November.

I wonder what I’d procrastinate about if I’d grown up speaking French and if my window sealed around the AC. Probably as many other things as possible.

The water is fucking boiling.