it's fucking hot

People really understate the heat and humidity of the Arabian peninsula. It's a sandy swamp where your skull becomes a furnace to roast your mind into a chiseled crisp. The torrid temperatures are often compared to a burning heart, browbeaten with unyielding love. To use that analogy correctly, it's really a kind of hotness that stems from a weekend of uncompromised lust, the kind that would leave you with an exotic wetness demanding you go see a specialist about. This burn is dangerous and you know it and you'd give anything, give up any part of yourself to be able to give in to it. But you just can't get used to it and so you fight it, and it just gets worse; it's only the beginning of July. Nobody here even jokes about it when they say, "just wait for the summer," emphasizing the article as if to indicate that each summer redifines the concepts of struggle and insufferability. It's easy to see why people here are so devout and pious, a brimstoned and fiery hell could be a consolation prize after a life lived here. What fresh devices the devil must employ to be effectively fearful. In the end though, the heat just epitomizes the fatilistic passive aggression. Human mortality is an empty threat the sun uses to tease us. That's probably the worst part about it: the heat is mere torture. It doesn't kill you, just makes you want to die.