I Hate Summer

I hate the oppresive feeling of air molecules vibrating so fast that it feels as if you walked into a brick when you step outside. That's called heat, and it sucks. I hate the humidity levels so high that sweat no longer manages to cool you off any because none of it is evaporating. It was so hot recently that walking into the sunlight felt like walking up a steep hill. The harsh fire beating me back with each step forward.
I'd much prefer to be cold. I can always add more clothes, flannels, gloves, jackets, blankets, hats, afghans, hoodies... but there are severe limits as to how much more naked I can get at any given time. Believe me, I've pushed the boundaries of nudity for various situations. I'd peel off my skin, but the blood wouldn't make any better of a coolant than the sweat what with this mugginess, and my meats would only fry more directly without my thin, pale shielding. Summer is a pile of suck.
I hate the knowledge that summer used to mean something, a vacation, a respite. Now it's just the same old work only hotter. The baleful yellow eye hangs above us for a longer portion of our waking hours, mocking and burning all who are foolish enough to leave their dark holes. I hate that night doesn't even have the decency to be cool in the summer. It's just slightly less hot, merely enough of a difference to remind me how much worse it's going to become in the morning.
The best thing about summer is that it ends.