"I need my angst. Keeps me sharp (snaps fingers), on the edge (snaps fingers), where I gotta be (snaps fingers)."
Al Pacino said that in Heat (directed by Michael Mann).
Speaking of Heat, it just became August 3.
I have not turned on the A/C yet this summer.
I'm sitting here, under the ceiling fan at full speed.
Next to the oscillating fan.
Thinking of my past.
Growing up in an air conditionless house in Prospect Heights, Illinois.
My parents don't live there anymore either. They live in a temperature controlled town house paradise near Lake Arlington. My mom rarely turns on the A/C.
To the chagrin of my Father.
To the amusement of her children.
She (my Mom) has called me out that I'm just like her - not turning on the A/C.
It's not because I'm cheap.
Well, I can't deny that its a function in a much more complex equation.
Heat was billed as a Los Angeles Crime Saga.
I'm billing this post as a TQ sleep deprived melodrama.
