Friday

I'm basically turning into a slug from the heat.  Want to do nothing at all; not even think. We have a holiday today.  One forecast has Sunday at 97 degrees...we rarely get that hot in August.  (And there was local corn and tomatillos already at the farmer's market.  Early.  Didn't buy the latter, but the corn was delicious.)  Last night when I got home from work, my roommate's fan said it was 93 in her doorway, six hours later it'd only dropped one degree.  (I don't have a fan; and I think plugging anything else in might blow the fuse.  It's an old house.)  It's just after nine am now, slight coolness of a breeze, but in the 70's.  I'm trying to motivate myself to go plant something.  (Nope.)

Went to the park, did some writing in the shade until it disappeared.  People gathered around the kiddie pool waiting for it to open; when I passed by again, it was packed.  Tempting.  Walking home from the store, my barely touched fingers made valleys in the butter, even though I walked in the shade.  The neighbor's sprinkler hit me three times as I passed, by the time I opened the door I was already dry.

Think I'll try to motivate to go to a friend's show across town.  Maybe there will be air conditioning.  At any rate, I like her music.

Or not.  Apparently, I ate something evil.  Fun times.

Only 91.  The slightest breeze blowing through the window feels like grace.  Perhaps I am acclimating.  Just don't light any fires, plenty burning already.

Lined up and waiting, July 3/L Herlevi 2015