I stayed up too late writing and ended up hung over on words and ideas and lack of sleep and desperate for naps and tall cool glasses of water, which I took in alternate sessions.
The ice machine has ceased making ice. Again. I am an ice junkie. This is a problem.
I miss the days when I spent my weekends jumping from book to book, like stepping stones in a lazy creek.
The weather is playing tricks on me, looking murky and cool, but really being hot. FOUL! I call FOUL!!
(Fuzzy said he might steal my exclamation-point key!)