OP-ED: I’m Sick of Getting Cock Blocked by Fall Every Damn Day

I use the term “cock block” liberally because I feel it is the only way I can describe the simultaneous hope and frustration I feel when each morning is cool, but the late afternoon makes me prefer to light myself on fire than to endure the 85° sauna that is Philadelphia. I want to wear sweaters, school-girl knee socks, and button-downs — how else am I supposed to gain meaning from my English degree? But every day I have to go back to wearing shorts and a t-shirt like a loser who is being fucked in the ass by climate change.

Sometimes, when the high is 67°, I feel a sense of hope. I get a semi for fall. I might even drink hot tea. But then, the next day it's back to a cesspool of heat and I am left sweating, flaccid, and with no release. 

I don’t use disposable straws. I cut open soda packs so that turtles don’t get strangled by them. I’m doing all that I can. All I ask is for fall to give me the orgasm I deserve.