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painting in pink \06.18\

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I've mentioned it before, but I hold tight as long as I can before turning on my air conditioning.  At the present moment, it's 93 degrees and I haven't caved.  Somehow I've managed to make it feel like a challenge, like I don't want to lose to my body's biological need to cool down.  Ultimately, I know I'll give in when the afternoon sunlight starts pouring in my west-facing windows, ratcheting the discomfort level up to unbearable.

As much as I prefer fresh air to conditioned air, it sometimes amazes me that I grew up in a house devoid of the option to synthetically decrease the temperature.  We subsisted on keeping the shades closed, fans of various types (ceiling, oscillating, attic), and the sprinkler in the backyard.  That was the glory of being a kid and living in suburbia.  During those summer days, there was no reason I couldn't live in my bathing suit and frolic in the icy hose water at any time I pleased.  I have this inclination that it would go over a little differently if I brought that trend back to life outside of my urban dwelling...at the age of 28.

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