I will preface this post by first saying that I prefer the heat over the cold.

I hail from Texas. My ideal outside weather conditions is 100 degrees, dry heat, and lots of sun. That being said, I need to shout at the world: it is so. damn. hot. in my room.

Every passing hour I spend in my humble abode, I feel like a wax candle slowly melting into a pool of me. Possibly the worst part of the heat is how incessant it is. The heat. It is never-ending. I am Chidi from the Good Place; my room is the hellhole descending into a fiery pit of flames that has opened up underneath me. Even the Broadway AC units, which you can turn on so that it emits cooling air during the summer, now only produces MORE heat when I turn it on. Those traitorous devices.

Have you tried opening your windows, you ask? You fool! To expect that mere windows can battle the Goliath that is my dorm’s central heat. I laugh at your naiveté.

I have kept not one but both of my two windows open, for a very long time. In fact, I don’t remember a time anymore in which my windows were not open. I’m not even someone who generally likes my windows open. I hate the outdoors, I don’t enjoy nature, and my favorite thing is to vegetate in the stale air inside. One day, after placing my liquid makeup remover on the windowsill, I even ended up finding a dead bug, legs up, in the container. I kid you not.

And yet I’m still willing to risk this horror every day, every second, as I keep my windows open in a feeble attempt to keep the heat at bay. That is how raw my pain is. I understand that I might be being a tad dramatic, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Gods of the Broadway Hall central heating, I beg you: please relieve me of this cursèd warmth.

my broadway room via bwog archives