I'm sure that some of you have heard the old adage that a writer should talk about things with which he or she is most familiar. Hence the column, Rants and Raves since, really, I know more about ranting than most in life.

Seriously though, (like that wasn't a true and serious statement), what I mean is that maybe a waitress might pen a piece about how “interesting” the business of serving people for a living can be, or a pilot might jot some jazz down having to do with mid-air antics, etc.

Well, this week, the only thing that has been at the forefront of my drenched-in-sweat mind, is... the heat. Therefore, I am now a total expert on said heat.

Before I continue, I have to say that this rant isn't very exciting. It is quite boring actually. What a way to promote my work huh? I just need to get this out in the open for the sake of my sanity and the health, and well being, of those around me at this particular moment.

So, if you are expecting to roar in laughter or to throw your head back wildly whilst snorting due to the hilarity of it all, you will be disappointed.

OK, back to the subject at hand, which would be this horrific weather.

I believe wrote a column last year about my hatred of this most oppressive element, which we must endure year after year. Add humidity to the mix and I am really unrecognizable as a human being.

Well, for some reason, that I shall chalk up to mental health issues, I have begun my camping season early this year. I almost never, in a week of Januaries, camp until late August or, better yet, September through the first of the year.

I had the chutzpah to actually throw my tent down all through July. As you know, every weekend has been absolutely, ridiculously, hideously, and anything else that ends in ly, hotter than the hubs of h.... Sorry Mother about using the “H” word, (she becomes appalled when I do this in my column space), but, believe me, that word is minor compared to this one: *&%$# and that's how I really feel.

So, this column is really all about steam, almost literally, being blown off by your humble, sticky and soaked columnist. Aren't you delighted?

See, since I rarely utilize the End of the Road Campground until later in the season, I forgot a basic rule of nature, which is the pattern in which the earth moves during the summer months, in comparison to the fall time line.

So, in other words, as I like to say lately, spots that were totally shaded last autumn, are now partially shady. The shadow seems to move consistently as well and generally changes locations directly after I've schlepped my cooler into a sun deprived spot.

I have lost winter weight from gallons of perspiration seeping from my system and from literally, not figuratively, running from the sun.

Another example, similar to the cooler dragging, would be when I just finish getting my hammock situated betwixt two trees in the glorious full shade—full shade, mind you, when it happens. Yes, the second I've finished the big move, the sun makes the evil, and well devised, decision to inch, ever so slightly, allowing one of its devilish rays to take aim upon my heavenly hanging cradle of joy.

Thus begins another relocation plan and it goes on and on and on until dusk, really.

I have also maneuvered the van about 10 times in order to keep it out of the direct path of the large, sinister ball of misery in the sky. The van is black so, you can imagine. My tent also has the nerve to be mostly black and, as I learned earlier today, is in the direct path of the morning sphere of fire.

This is what makes me super mad about the whole deal and is the main thrust of this piece. We live in Pennsylvania right? Why is it so blasted hot and sticky in these parts? Isn't this behavior more conducive to a southern state and not to PA, of all places?

I know I'm weird, as most people moan about the winters. Well, I have news for the cold loathers in our lives. Again, we live in Pennsylvania, which is supposed to be cold and, by its very nature as a, I'll say it again, NORTHERN state, should be freezing in the winter and not so *&%$# heat filled in the summer.

I cannot take it any longer and even begged Aunt Liz to stop me from camping anymore during the summer months. She just gawked at me, as she does, with that all-knowing grin because she is very clear that my love for camping outweighs my absolute disdain for any weather over 70. Actually 80 is OK but, no humidity is allowed, period.

Actually, Aunt Liz is under the misguided perception that even if it is 927 degrees, with full humidity, as long as there's a breeze, we are good to go. Harrumph is what I say to that nonsense. All the supposed breeze does is move heavy air from point A to point B and we all know it.

Well, I know this column was about as thrilling as listening to news about a total stranger's, relative's, friend's heath ailments, (I have a friend who thinks I need to hear stuff like that), so, thanks for even reading it.

I simply needed to get this jazz out in the open and really let loose about how avoiding the sun, like a trip to the gyno, has been my number one activity during the past three weekends.

I can't really scream this gripe out at the top of my lungs over here as people might think I'm strange and we certainly couldn't have anyone thinking anything of the sort, as I am totally, and fully, super stable.

See, the heat index is making me delirious and has me actually believing that I am normal. Hold me. Help me or, better yet, throw water on me the next time you see me. Take your pick and with that I say....THE END.