Catch-22

I always meant to finish that book, but have not gotten around to it as of yet.

Nevertheless, while I may not be facing the Catch-22 of a World War II fighter pilot, I have my own dilemma:

I can close the balcony door and drown in a pool of my own sweat,

or

I can leave the door wide open and be eaten alive by florentine mosquitoes.

Right now, I'm opting for leaving the door open. While the mosquito bites will surely be driving me mad by morning, I'm hot now. And the breeze is so nice. I could write a love letter to it.