Lawsy, how I DO hate the summer!

I never thought I'd get to this, after a winter of grey and grey and suffusions of grey, but I hate summer.
I hate the relentless sun, the humidity that makes my sweat just lay on my skin with nowhere to go, the hot breezes, the sounds of lawnmowers and trimmers and motorcycles and wonky air conditioners. I crave shade and spring and fall and the kind of air that enlivens me rather than the heat that makes me lie about like a pole-axed sheep for most of the day.
The plants bug me.  They are so untidy. The heat and humidity have caused them to grow all leggy and unattractive and only the weeds seem to be winning the battle for the sidewalk cracks.
I hate wearing clothing this time of year, and yet, it's expected. I hate seeing people who deny these expectations. Men, for example, who wander about shirtless.  It pisses me off, me in my bra and shirt required by law (and, frankly, common decency, as an over 50 plump woman does need to shield somewhat).  Mind you, over 50 fat men don't seem to feel the same requirement.
Every day with MS, the heat saps me more and more, to the point where I feel lucky if I want to do anything.  My brain glides into neutral. Then reverse. Then it falls off the cliff.
I loll about.  I read novels. I forget what I read. I drink water. I loll.
Making food seems unnecessary and unpleasant, so I live on grapes and slices of cheese.
I get impatient with the body and brain that seem to only want to lie about, but I'm trapped, pinned like a butterfly to a board. I force myself to exercise every morning, before my body gets the message, but crash into dead sleep at eight every evening. My feet are cramping more and more, legs twitching more, as the heat gradually shoves my MS buttons.
I long for those first few cool breezes of late August...