If you believe that I have already covered the topic of the Nashville heat to satisfaction, that I have fulfilled my word quota on the subject, that I couldn’t possibly have more to say about living in the never-ending doldrums of sultry torment… THINK AGAIN.

There is no insulation in the walls of my home, and so the wimpy window air conditioner unit doesn’t make a difference. Last night was the hottest night so far, and my apartment would not cool down, no matter what. I have taken to freezing my Nalgene water bottle, and then sleeping with it in my bed at night. How resourceful – I’m a regular PRAIRIE WOMAN. It doesn’t really help, but it makes me feel like I’m doing something to combat the swelter.

A couple of weeks ago, I put on my fall clothes. I just put them on, and stood in front of the mirror, scarf and all. And then I peeled them off. I needed to remind myself that it won’t always be this way, and better days are coming, and there is hope. Incidentally, these are also the words that crisis counselors are trained to give suicidal individuals, but I digress.

Last night, I told Debbie that if I had known how miserable the summer was going to be, I never would have moved here. Maybe it’s good that I didn’t know, because I’m serious: I would not have come. I solemnly swore to her that this will be my only summer in Nashville, and that I’ll move away before June 1 next year. She told me that that’s what she said 11 years ago. I do not like those words.

I have been in an outrageously bad mood for a full 2 months, ever since my lunchtime walks around Centennial Park were terminated due to the sizzling air and scorching sun. Now, the only walking that I do is down 4 flights of stairs in the parking garage to cross over to my office building. Ever since it has gotten unbearably hot, do you want to know what the stairwell smells like? A carnival. Humid and dirty, stale popcorn and urine, old newspapers and staph infections. That is what I get to walk through on my way to work.

So Seattle, enjoy your day. No, I mean it: SOAK IT UP. Relish your 83 degrees of gorgeous bliss, with the mountains and the ocean and your patio happy hours. Think of me – whose next patio happy hour will likely be in November – in sheer misery, with no ability to think of a blog topic outside of the heat.

I have found my fair share of things to complain about here in Nashville. I’ve already talked about the heat – although I’m not sure that my words have conveyed the depth of my suffering. There are street corners that flagrantly (not fragrantly) reek of sewage – by the Wendy’s on West End, or across the street from P.M. on Belmont Blvd., for example. Smog is a recent development here in Music City, as is the discovery of RABID BATS raising hell in the Green Hills area.

But there is something that I haven’t mentioned yet. A very good thing. One of the very most magical things I have ever seen: fireflies.

I have never lived in a place with fireflies before, and before I saw them, I don’t know that I really believed that they existed. A firefly was an idea in my head, in the same category as the Eiffel Tower – a nice thought, but relatively meaningless since I had never seen it. Late this spring, when I finally did see the little lights glowing in the front yard at dusk, I was mesmerized.

I have no idea “how” a firefly works, and to be honest, I don’t want to know. In our world of knowledge and explanations, there are very few things left that literally enchant us. I could sit on the porch and watch the fireflies every night through the summer, and never tire of their simple brilliance.

Not that it’s bearable enough to sit outside or anything.

We made it. It took us 15 hours. The AC broke. We laughed anyway.

Parsons Pilgrimage from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

At least this guy was happy:

If you were to ask me what my idea of hell is, I would mention many things: citrus toothpaste. Windchimes and windsocks. Patent leather. Blisters. Large herds of cats.

But oddly enough, the two biggest components that make up my idea of hell probably aren’t too far off: huge crowds, and hot hot heat.

I experienced both this past weekend.

The CMA Music Festival, otherwise known as Fan Fair, hit the city of Nashville last Thursday, and plowed straight through until Sunday night. Four days of non-stop concerts, autograph lines, photo-ops, $7 Bud Lights, and me. With a 4-day pass. I somehow lived to tell the tale.

Put me in a stadium with 50,000 people, sweat beading on my forehead, and Bucky Covington taking the stage, and invariably, I’m going to be looking for something to distract me. I took to wandering, and created a little masterpiece to share with you the joys of Fan Fair.

Watching white people dance from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

Don’t you feel like you were there? There were banana clips and bandanas, fanny packs and farmer tans. I two-stepped with cowboys, and made friends with Australians, and sweat (sweated? swat? swote?) at least 5 pounds off in my quest to find water. It truly could have been a miserable experience if I didn’t have such wonderful company along the way.

And if there was any doubt as to how hot it was, just check out my forehead.

By the end, I was done. No more Fan Fair. Give me AC. Give me water. Give me a shower. And give me a long, long time to sleep.

Recently, I strongly considered moving back to Seattle. I was presented with a really great opportunity – one that was incredibly tempting. A job, a chance to be with my old friends, a wide open road straight back to my Emerald City.

But I said no. I’m going to stick around Nashville, at least through the end of 2008. I just have to see. I don’t know what I’m hoping for or looking for or waiting for, but I just have to see what might present itself during this time. I’ve been loving the city more and more, and making friends, and settling into a routine – I can’t pack it all up and leave now.

Still, it was a really big deal for me to say no to Seattle. It was so enticing – I could almost smell the ocean. It would have been so easy to say yes – to pick up right where I left off, and re-enter my beautiful life of comfort and, in many ways, what I now see as luxury. But I chose Nashville.

And so as a result, you want to know what I chose?

Humidity so ubiquitous that the toilet paper separates on the roll. Heat so oppressively constant that I lie in bed at night thinking, “This must be what it feels like to die.” A steady coat of sweat, making makeup senseless. More cockroaches in the kitchen. A waning opportunity to spend any time outside, for fear of a heat stroke. An astronomical utility bill from running my mediocre AC window unit. Towels that never fully dry. Relentless sticky discomfort.

And I hear that this is just the beginning. So far, June has made me think, “I am so hot and cranky, I cannot go on.” But the locals tell me that July turns Nashville into an absolute sauna, and just when you think it cannot get any worse, August descends downright demonically.

Lord help me. Literally. GOD, SAVE ME FROM THIS HEAT.

But I chose this. Over salt water and bright blue sky and clear, glorious Seattle days, I chose to walk outside every morning straight into the hot, smelly breath of Satan. So I should stop complaining. I should.

But you know I won’t. It’s just not my style.