Dank: (adj)  unpleasantly moist or humid; damp and, often, chilly:

Although many enthusiastic pilgrims insist that adventures bring the spice to life, that same spiciness often generates emotional indigestion.

I like a good turn of affairs—but my body, my being, my feelings and soul do not always concur.

Just once—a single time—hopefully never to be repeated—I found myself trapped in a house, trying to outlast a hurricane.

The storm itself was not particularly terrifying.

For the answer, my friend, was just blowing in the wind.

The struggle came when the electricity went out along with all the accoutrements afforded by such a charge.

Especially air conditioning.

Also, you can’t open the windows because of the hurricane, so you’re in an old-fashioned hot box, doing your best imitation of a TV dinner.

I sweat. Then I sweat some more. I got tired of drinking since there was no ice, but I still kept sweating.

Trying to sleep was a bit futile.

I must admit, I’m a creature of habit who deeply enjoys sleeping ice-cold. Instead, I lay naked on my bed, perspiring, with my brain gradually twisting like an exotic pretzel.

Yes, for me that kind of heat and sweat and dank surroundings were mind-altering.

I started feeling an itch in my brain that I could not scratch. It was inaccessible to me without the inclusion of air conditioning and ice.

I grew grumpy.

I was fussy.

I couldn’t sit still—but moving around seemed to be a heinous flaw.

There was a point when the air felt so heavy that I wasn’t sure I could actually breathe it. It was like I needed to cut it out of the space in the room—chop it up—before it could pass through my lungs.

I had always prided myself on being adjustable, but suddenly I was at the mercy of a deep, dark, dank hole in my universe, that was anything but chilly.

Rather, it was sweaty and tropical.

Fortunately for me, just about the time that I was ready to scream out my disapproval, the shutters were lifted, the windows opened, the generator turned on and I sat in front of a fan, blowing hot air into my face.

It was enlightening.

I always felt that in all circumstances I could find contentment.

Instead, I discovered a glaring exception.


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