I grew up in Arizona from birth to age 25. So when I tell you I'm used to the heat, I want you to understand the full meaning of that. Back on June 26, 1990, when temperatures soared to 122 degrees and three were found dead from heat exhaustion - I was at a water park. For 6 hours. Developing second degree burns all over my back because I didn't reapply sunscreen. I know hot.
That being said, I've also lived in Utah now for 4 years and I'm beginning to think my blood has thickened during that time. That or pregnancy has just thrown off my entire internal thermostat. Because when we were in Phoenix this weekend I was hot. So hot. Too hot. Not even sweating because my body couldn't cope with the heat hot. I felt like all those years running around barefoot on concrete during the summer hadn't prepared me at all. Four short years spent in a cooler climate had destroyed a lifetime of building up an immunity to iocane powder....I mean, the heat. Shouldn't have.
But Friday I felt it. Felt it like when you open the oven door too close to your face and it feels like your eyebrows are melting. The heat left me drained and miserable. All day I felt like I was on auto-pilot as I tried to visit with my parents when all I really wanted to do was die. Lay down on the floor of the German restaurant we were lunching at and die. A/C was no balm to my stickiness. I had the air conditioner, a ceiling fan AND a rotating floor fan going full blast. But they couldn't ease the burning. That night I even tried sleeping on the bathroom tile but it was just too painful on my overstressed back. Any sort of fabric touching me felt like a heating pad. I was tired, cranky and my skin was roasting in its own juices. So I did the only thing I could do.
I cried. Like a baby. For over an hour. All I wanted {besides not being hot anymore and to be in my own bed with my own pillow with my own cat} was to have Jason hold and comfort me. But I think he knew that if he touched me I would have punched him. Hard. Many times.
The next night Ambien came to my rescue. (Thank you, Mom!) If it wasn't for that little pill, I'd probably still be crying on the floor in my old bedroom, cursing the Valley of the Sun and everyone who decided it was a good idea to live there.
So. The moral of this story - No matter how miserable you feel, a good sleeping pill can help you ignore your discomfort and fall asleep.
A GREAT sleeping pill can make you forget that your pants are literally on fire.
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