Sweat
Eli says the only thought in his head, “I’m sweating.”
“Yeah,” I sigh as I lift my arms to maximize the skin surface to airflow ratio. “I never used to be a much of a perspire-r, but, goodness, humidity brings it all out.” A bit dejected given the stagnant air I leave my arms to my sides and my hands rest again fumbling with the long grass. We live in southern Indiana. The summer air is heavy here, but we fare better than a bit farther south on highway, where the marshlands that are now smaller, poorer towns began. I first arrived in this small town from the arid mountains of northern Utah on the thirteenth of August. When I stepped outside of the car, my throat immediately filled with hot, weighty air. My traveling companions and I ran inside the house, a reprieve from the sun, though within a few minutes each of us was soaked with sweat and disbelief. I’ll have to learn to breathe the air, I thought. That night I lied in bed on top of the sheets awake with a heavy chest listening to the cicadas against the beat of the box fan. Crickets.
My bedroom is finally functional instead of still just a stack of boxes boxing disorganized paper with a leaning ladder and some blankets thrown on top.
In February 1849, about four thousand people lived in the valley. This growth led to the city’s division into nineteen ecclesiastical congregations (“wards”).
As of 2010, 1,029,655 people live in the valley, and there are approximately 170 stakes. Since each stake in the valley generally has between two and four buildings with three wards that meet in each building, the Salt Lake valley is now home to about 1,530 wards.
The ftwlig paradox
ftw = fuck the world
lig = life is good
example: I sit down in an empty computer lab that is nice and warm as opposed to fucking freezin’ and crowded, and then people come on in first thing sayin terrible things about peeps with vajay-jays.
who doesn’t know that the only person who can talk about p-control is prince?
