It’s been hotter than hell the last few days here in northern CA. The kind of days where I don’t feel like being anywhere near a computer.

Not just hot for here – hot for anywhere, anywhere that’s not AZ or NM or some death-dry desert.

It’s the kind of hot we almost never her here – when it doesn’t cool at night, when the house is as hot in the morning as it was the night before.

The kind of hot that blows out transformers and causes rolling blackouts. Today, we’re not allowed to turn on our office lights at work, and if it gets worse, they’ll start shutting down less-essential systems in order to keep vital network and data systems on line.

It’s the kind of heat where i think about putting the top back on my Jeep; the gearshift knob (an 8 ball) was literally so hot it hurt my hand to shift gears, the steering wheel was uncomfortable to touch.

Even a swimming pool doesn’t help – when the pool is 95 degrees and one can over-heat in the water.

I like the heat, usually. I like to sweat, to feel the hot air on my skin, the sun on my shoulders. But not like this. I need more tropical in my tropical heat; island breeze, tropical rain.

I’m not a desert creature. No bone-dry air and smog. I need wind and sea with my heat.

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Starting tomorrow, I’m alone for the week, family off to southern CA. I have the house to myself, and as usual, I look forward to my few days of silent, empty house.

I always hope I’ll write; though more often, I wind up simply working, and then enjoying the peace and silence of a house with no kids, watching movies I’ve been saving. Having the house empty winds up almost a vacation. I usually make plans for things I’ll do; dinners, or strip clubs, or movies I’ll go see by myself, or things I’ll cook or projects I’ll finish. And almost always, it winds up not happening. The pleasure of solitude wins out, and I spend by night or two or three simply decompressing. Doing nothing at all.

This time? We’ll see.