Everyone was getting rid of their crap yesterday. Garage sales on every other block. One was almost all clothes. Across from my apartment was a lot of little crap and a few beds, mattresses and ski equipment. Houses for sale were open to the public (and lots of people went to check them out).

It's a fire sale, people. Everything must go. We can't keep our crap anymore. We must give it to someone else.

My cousin, my brother and I went on a quest to get rid of an old box spring and sofa. We're all hoping the security cameras didn't get the license plate number on the truck. We were gonna do it the right way, and then there was no way to go the right way and we compromised our values.

And it was really hot so we had to finish it.

The weekend after July 4th is, apparently, the time to get rid of everything you don't want anymore. Around the middle of the year. And in the middle of our annual way "it's too hot in Albuquerque" two weeks. High 90s during the day and not below 70 at night.

My swamp cooler has been working overtime. Just like everyone else's.

I should go to a movie, right? Use someone else's cool air. But I've been really busy, so when I get everything done, I don't want to move anymore. I definitely don't want to drive across town to the movies.

Do you feel it? Are we getting to the dog days yet? Do I ask this question every year? Probably.

I always know it's coming, and then, when it does, I throw up both my hands in wonder. How does this happen? How is it so damn hot?

I don't live in phreakin' Phoenix.

I've been totally out of touch. Apparently quitting is the new getting your hands dirty with real work. And dying is the new career rebirth. Calling for "revolution" is the new patriotism.

We're all breaking. Crashing waves against the shore. And even as we split apart and swirl and try to keep it together, we can't find the hand up. We just hope that when it cools off slightly in the middle of the night, our body coalesces back into some kind of human form.

So I've been on a steady diet of water and cold beer and a little bit of food to get me through. Of Michael Jackson on the car stereo and afternoon naps. Of lame jokes about people I don't even care about. Smirking just makes me sweat more.

But I will persevere. And in a few weeks I'll forget it was so hot that sitting down was an aerobic exercise.

Matt Worley changes his shirt a couple of times a day.