hot and bothered

Last night Medusa came back from work all hot and sweaty, fuming and cursing. she had been travelling since three in the afternoon, in what ought to be a pleasant monsoon weather, but instead is blinding, scorching, sweat-inducing summer. medusa cursed all those who never have to trek for ten minutes in the heart of the industrial wasteland, where there is no shade, and only heat, she abused those who do not travel at the back of a "super", which prides itself in travelling at break-neck speed, and therefore filling its occupants with a maximum of iron dust and industrial pollution. not to mention the sun. the blinding, head-aching sun.

and when she reached home, there was no power. presumably because at this unexpected heat wave the use of ACs had gone up again. fat load of good a power cut does. those who had been taking much earned rest after a long day slaving in front of computers at an air conditioned office, having travelled to and fro in air conditioned vehicles, would simply use up some more fossil fuel and keep the AC on.

How will they ever know the the pleasure of having one's own sweat trickle down one's back, making the bed and the pillow soak, when one's hanky gets wetter than an wet tissue, and the gloom cast by the absence of electric light?

Medusa knows that individual actions of eco-friendly-ness will not stop the downward spiral in which the earth's weather seems to have gone. but what is to be done? it seems so bloody hopeless that ranting about the bourgeoisie who take taxis and use ACs brings about more pleasure than harping on and on about nameless-faceless individuals and interests that control corporations.

in the meantime, the temperatures rise. you may control the weather that you live in, but can you control the weather in which your food is grown? and if you can't, then aren't you and medusa in the same sinking boat, and shouldn't you be doing something about it?