I swim out to my car. Well, not really. It feels like the air is dense enough to do the backstroke in, though. We’ve had what seems like a month straight of humidity levels in the seventies. I know I’m supposed to run errands but can’t remember what I need to do. I wonder, did I get any sleep at all last night? Or was it just a big toss-n-turn fest?

Sleep is rare to come by during this time of year. Even when my air conditioner goes nonstop all night, I still can’t get any good winks in. I need to be swaddled in blankets like a mummy to sleep soundly. In this weather, I can’t even stand a sheet on my legs.

It’s a sunny morning, but haze has already taken over the sky. The sun is muted, yet it’s still beating down angrily onto my shoulders. I should have started my errands hours ago. Too bad nothing would have been open. I’m in such a frog, I’m thinking as I slowly make my way through the tropical dampness to my car. I mean fog, but even my internal voice gets it wrong. Or maybe it gets it right. It’s like I have a fat frog sitting on my brain. Heavy, wet, and swollen. Who can think in this weather?

By the time noon rolls languidly around, the heat index is over a hundred. I amble into a store hoping that the air conditioner there works better than mine at home. It does, but not by much. A salesclerk asks if I need anything.

“A snowball?” I reply.

“Sorry. All out,” she says and then yawns.

“How are you doing in this heat?” I ask.

“I’m exhausted.”

She sounds exhausted. She looks exhausted. I’m sure I do, too.

One more stop. Do I really have to go for groceries? What do I need besides a large iceberg to lay down on? And why does my head hurt? The frog is on top of my brain. Why is the front of my brain in pain? I haven’t been drinking, but I think I have a hangover. A humidity hangover.

In the grocery store I’m looking at things like I’ve never seen them before. Nothing is registering properly. What exactly is a kiwi again? Oh yeah, it’s a kind of fruit. Do people really eat kiwis? How does a person peel a kiwi? Is it even possible? I realize I can’t handle fruits and vegetables right now. I move on to the bread aisle.

My thoughts slog like legs stuck in quicksand. What did I come in here for? Did I forget my list? No, I never made one. Should I hang out in the refrigerated section for a while until the brain frog is frozen out and finds another host?

After a brief gathering of supplies, I swim to the car from the store and realize I neglected to get what I needed most. Oh well. Maybe next time. I arrive home, totally spent. I pour a large glass of water and sit. I’m sweating as I’m sitting. The frog on top of my brain is sweating, too. I just know it.

They say the days from the beginning of July to the middle of August are the dog days. I say they’re the frog days. It’s impossible to think straight, near impossible to breathe. Summer really can be kind of nasty at times. I forget this when January’s winds bite at me like a rabid dog. I forget how it becomes too stifling to sleep, think, or even breathe. I forget that in July and August I shuffle around like the walking dead, not wanting to exert any more energy than is absolutely necessary. I forget that my brain gets taken over by a large, soggy amphibian that won’t budge until leaves turn orange and cool breezes blow.

Still, I’ll take summer over winter, warts and all.

Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Her book Date Expectations is winner of the 2017 Independent Press Awards, Humor Category, and winner of the 2016 IPPY silver medal for humor. Write to her at jeepgribbs@hotmail.com. Read more of her columns at www.zip06.com/shorelineliving.