Love in the Time of Climate Change by Brian Adams Page B

had made my climate radar kick into high gear. I was helplessly falling, flailing, unable to stop myself.
    Be gone, ye demons! Out, out, you devils!
    None of my manful efforts to silence the shrill voice of OCD had any effect.
    Their apartment was a torture chamber, an inquisitor’s tool kit of energy no-nos.
    Disaster #1: Incandescent lightbulbs. The evil ones. Energy-sucking little bastards. Their apartment was full of them. Not one lamp had a compact fluorescent or LED bulb.
And they were all turned on!
It was the middle of the day and all of the lights were on—
all of them
!
    Disaster #2: Everything else was on. And there was a lot of everything else! Three computers, two tablets, two Kindles, six digital clocks, the list went on and on and on. They had every electronic gadget known to human kind. Multiple generations of the same gadget. Their apartment was a virtual museum of electronic gadgetry.
And they were all turned on! All of them!
    Disaster #3: The heat was blasting and it was a beautiful September day. And the windows—the windows, for Christ sake—were
wide open
. I am not making this up. No wonder I was dripping sweat. It was pushing ninety-five in the apartment and
the goddamn heat was on!
    Disaster #3: The straw that broke the camel’s back. There they were, lying in plain view for the whole world to see, as God is my witness—recyclables in the trash can. And not just recyclables but returnables. Three beer bottles and a Pepsi.
Returnables in the friggin’ trash can!
    I desperately tried to focus on Twin Number One, who was inching, inching ever closer. She had taken off her sweater and I could see her nipples, hard and erect, poinking through her braless top. Her hand was on my thigh and her tongue was in my mouth and I was
losing it
!
    I could now hear Jesse and Twin Number Two, giggling and frolicking in the back bedroom, oblivious to the living Climate Hell that was happening here, right here, at this very moment!
    What was wrong with me? I breathed in and out, out and in, desperate to make my OCD go away. Make it stop. Don’t be so crazy, don’t think these crazy thoughts, don’t let all of this crazy climate crap get in the way of fondling some absolutely fabulous breasts.
    This was pathological. This was insane.
    What was wrong with me!
    â€œAre you okay?” Twin Number One asked. I think it was Patty.
    â€œI don’t know,” I gasped. “I think I might have a clove of garlic stuck in my throat. All of a sudden I feel nauseated. I can’t breathe. I need to step outside. I am so sorry. I feel like such a jerk but I have got to get some air!”
    I got up, grabbed my bags of food from the farmer’s market, and staggered out the door.
    â€”
    â€œWhat the fuck is wrong with you?” Jesse yelled. He had come back late that evening and found me curled up on the couch eating garlic cloves and watching the cartoon channel.
    â€œYou got up and walked because she didn’t have the right lightbulbs? You forfeited your first chance in months to get laid because she had recyclables in the trash can?”
    â€œReturnables,” I whispered, eyes cast downward.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œReturnables. There is a difference.”
    â€œWho gives a flying fuck! Jesus, Casey, there could have been the goddamn Hope Diamond in the trash and I wouldn’t have given a shit. What the hell is wrong with you? She was twenty-something. She was hot. She wanted it. And you turned her down because she doesn’t recycle?”
    I couldn’t look him in the eye.
    â€œIf I’m going to make love to someone, then I want there to be.…”
    â€œMake love?” Jesse interrupted, incredulous. “Make love? Earth to Casey. Dude, no one was about to make love. You were going to have sex. Sex! Do you even remember what that is? Sweet Mary and Joseph, how long has it been?”
    Once again, downcast eyes. It was not turning into a