People always ask me why I hate summer.

Pull up a chair.

I work from home on overnights, so you'd think I'd have this figured out.

My office is in my bedroom.

Every morning around 7:30, I finish work, close the laptop, and make the exhausting commute from my desk to my bed.

It's about one foot.

I don't even have to change rooms.

My entire strategy for surviving summer is simple:

Stay inside.

Avoid windows.

Pretend the outside world doesn't exist until October.

I have blackout curtains.

A window air conditioner.

Groceries delivered.

And enough food in the house to survive a small apocalypse.

I've spent years perfecting a lifestyle that requires me to interact with summer as little as humanly possible.

And somehow...

Summer still finds a way.

I pulled the blackout curtains closed and crawled into bed.

That's when my window air conditioner made...

That noise.

If you have a window AC, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Not the normal hum.

Not the "I'm working hard" noise.

The noise that makes you sit straight up because you've never heard it before.

I froze.

"Buddy..."

"We've been through a lot together."

"This isn't the time."

I stared at it.

It stared back.

Well...

It rattled back.

I turned it off.

Waited ten seconds.

Turned it back on.

It coughed.

Rattled.

Groaned.

Then started blowing cold air again like nothing had happened.

I didn't trust it.

It knew I didn't trust it.

From that moment on, we were both just pretending everything was fine.

Just as I was finally starting to drift off...

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My mother knocked on my door and asked when I was going to help her with something in the yard.

Now, whenever my mother says "help," what she actually means is that I'll be doing the entire ridiculous task while she supervises.

And somehow, these tasks always become urgent during the hottest, brightest part of the day.

Never at dusk.

Never when it cools down.

Always when the sun is directly overhead and actively trying to kill me.

I had just finished working all night.

I wanted to sleep.

See, my mother has this fascinating theory that if I sleep more than four hours, I'm wasting my life.

Never mind that I'd just worked all night.

Never mind that I wasn't planning to spend the afternoon parasailing or climbing Mount Everest.

Apparently sleeping is optional.

So every now and then she'll wander in with a project.

"Can you help me with something outside?"

Which, translated into English, means:

"Come outside in 97-degree weather and do all the work while I explain how you're doing it wrong."

I looked at the weather app.

97°. Feels like 108°.

I looked back at her.

I briefly considered having her committed.

Then I looked at the weather again.

97°. Feels like 108°.

Who's responsible for "feels like?"

Who's standing outside taking emotional surveys?

"It doesn't actually feel like 108."

Yes.

Yes it does.

It feels like Satan left the oven door open.

Just as I convinced myself everything was going to be okay...

The lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then everything stayed on.

Nothing shut off.

Nothing broke.

It was just enough to remind me that the power company could ruin my life at any moment.

So now I'm lying in bed...

Listening.

Every click.

Every hum.

Every rattle.

Trying to decide if I should start shopping for a replacement air conditioner before this one retires without giving notice.

Eventually...

I fell asleep.

I don't know how long I was out.

Could've been ten minutes.

Could've been an hour.

Then came the birds.

I don't know what they were so excited about.

They found the one tree directly outside my bedroom window and held what I can only assume was the Annual Bird Leadership Conference.

Every species was represented.

Nobody waited their turn to speak.

I have no idea what they accomplished, but they were incredibly passionate about it.

Then the lawn mowers started.

Not one.

Several.

I don't know if my neighbors have a group chat or some sort of blood oath, but apparently everyone on my street has agreed that if one person mows, they all mow.

I lay there listening to what sounded like the Indianapolis 500 for riding lawn mowers.

Just when I thought it was over...

The weed eater fired up.

Now, I'm convinced weed eaters don't actually trim weeds.

They're just tiny two-stroke engines designed specifically to make sure nobody within a three-mile radius gets a nap.

Then came the leaf blower.

In July.

A leaf blower.

There wasn't a leaf on the ground.

Not one.

What exactly was he blowing?

Heat?

Dust?

The neighbor's property values?

He spent twenty minutes blowing absolutely nothing from one end of the driveway to the other.

Then he turned around...

...and blew it all back.

At this point I wasn't sure if he was cleaning the yard or just making sure every molecule of hot air had been evenly redistributed.

I pulled the pillow over my head.

The lawn mower came back.

Apparently the grass had grown another quarter inch while I was listening to the leaf blower.

I briefly considered buying everyone on my street a goat.

Eventually...

I drifted back to sleep.

But there was a deadline.

See, in my mother's world, if I'm still asleep after 1:00 in the afternoon...

I'm apparently unemployed.

Never mind that I'd been working since the night before.

Never mind that I don't get off work until 7:30 in the morning.

If she walks by my room after 1:00 and I'm still asleep...

Somewhere in her mind I've given up on life.

So every day becomes a race.

Can I get enough sleep before 1:00?

Or will I wake up to...

"You've slept long enough."

Long enough?

I've been asleep for five hours.

I've been awake all night.

I'm not lazy.

I'm nocturnal.

There's a difference.

I woke up.

12:57 p.m.

Three whole minutes before my mother could officially declare me a bum.

Victory.

I stumbled into the living room looking like I'd lost a fight with my pillow.

My mother looked at the clock.

Then looked at me.

"Jesus, it's about time. You're up. All you do is sleep".

No...

"Good afternoon."

No...

"Did you sleep okay?"

Just...

"Jesus, it's about time."

I'd been asleep for five hours.

She acted like I'd just emerged from a twenty-year coma.

I mumbled something that vaguely resembled "good morning."

She ignored it.

"When are you going to blow the pine needles off the roof?"

The roof.

In July.

At one o'clock in the afternoon.

When it was 97 degrees.

It felt like 108.

She wanted me...

On the roof.

I briefly considered climbing onto the roof.

Just not for the reason she was thinking.

Before I continue, I should probably clarify something.

I love my mother more than my luggage.

She's a wonderful woman. And makes me laugh like no one else.

But every once in a while she'll say something that makes me stop...

Take a deep breath...

Count to ten...

And wonder if there really is a Shady Pines.

Now...

Where were we?

Oh, right.

The roof.

Before we go any further, there's something you should know.

I'm absolutely terrified of heights.

I know...

I live in a one-story house.

That doesn't matter.

To me, one story might as well be Everest.

If both of my feet aren't firmly planted on the ground, my brain immediately starts calculating all the creative ways I could fall to my death.

Logically, I know I'd probably survive.

My anxiety has never been particularly interested in logic.

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

Neither of us said a word.

I was hoping she'd forgotten.

She hadn't.

"When are you going to blow the pine needles off the roof?"

I looked out the window.

Not a cloud in the sky.

The trees weren't moving.

The weather app still said:

97°. Feels like 108°.

"Today?"

She looked at me like I'd just asked the dumbest question in human history.

"Well... they're not going to blow themselves off."

I looked at the roof.

It wasn't covered in little pine needles.

It was covered in those longleaf pine needles.

You know...

The ones that are about a foot long.

Nature's version of pickup sticks.

They don't just blow away.

They weave themselves together into giant bird nests...

...and dare you to move them.

I sighed.

There was no point arguing.

So I hauled my fat ass back down the ladder.

One shaky step at a time.

I walked over to the utility room.

Found the rake.

Looked at it.

The rake looked back at me.

Neither of us wanted any part of this.

I climbed the ladder again.

Leaf blower in one hand.

Rake in the other.

Common sense...

Nowhere to be found.

She laughed.

"It's not that fucking high."

That's exactly what someone standing safely on the ground would say.

I leaned as far as I safely could.

Flipped on the leaf blower.

Nothing.

Not one moved.

The leaf blower wasn't moving them.

It was just giving them a gentle breeze.

"They're not moving!"

"Use a rake."

Surprisingly...

It worked.

Then the only gust of wind we'd had in days showed up and carried every last pine needle onto the front porch.

All we'd really accomplished...

...was moving the problem about fifteen feet.

So I climbed back down.

We put the ladder away.

I grabbed the leaf blower.

Thirty seconds later...

The battery died.

Now...

Have you ever tried sweeping those longleaf pine needles with an old straw broom?

Picture trying to sweep cooked spaghetti.

Or a pile of wet coat hangers.

I wasn't cleaning the porch.

I was just rearranging the pine needles into smaller, more organized piles of frustration.

Finally the porch was clean.

My mother smiled.

"See? That didn't take so long."

Then she added...

"You're always so dramatic."

Then she looked around the living room.

"You know..."

"I've been thinking."

Oh no.

"I think we should switch the living room around."

She pointed at the couch.

"I hate it over there."

The couch.

The couch in the living room.

The living room nobody actually uses because we all stay in our own rooms.

I looked at the couch.

I looked at her.

I looked at the weather app.

97°. Feels like FUCK IT'S HOT°.

I just stood there...

Wondering what fresh hell tomorrow was going to bring.

So...

Should I tell you more stories about the adventures of me and my mother?

Because trust me...I've got plenty.