only the most pressing of needs can pierce through this fucking haze of heat. all else fades into the background, indistinguishable from the everpresent simmer. it forces u to sit down and resent all things that are good and noble

each trivial task demands deliberation, and thus i am forced to catalogue whether the stickiness in the sheaves of my fingers are worth the usual OCD handwash or can i just continue my work, knowing well enough that THAT itself would be tainted by this oozing torpor. i am not exaggerating