Inculpatus

"I don't do well in the humidity."

I guess we do well enough. A little salt, sans rice, over the shoulder, a few open windows, and voila! Breathing easy again.

Last night there was a vague rhythmic disturbance in the moist air that kept me at the edge of consciousness. It sounded like the radio that the neighbor left on all night. Or the start of a grouse thrumming in the woods. I shouldn't have been annoyed, but really.

It turns out that my ear has been bothering me and now I hear my own heartbeat. The little engine that could, cheerful fellow. The thought of my heart as an insensitive neighbor who left his radio on all night...ridiculous. To be annoyed at my own heart...doubly ridiculous. Lub doubly. For after all, the heart is not to blame, it's the ear. It's not the ear, it's the heat. It's not the heat, it's the humidity. It's not the humidity, it's the annoyance. It's not the annoyance, it's this blog page. Something has to pay!

...Blamer Mode...