I think I am living in a crock pot. The air is downright drinkable, it's hot, and everyone is listless and cranky at the same time. There is a rumor the weather will eventually break, but I'm not banking on it.
Writing is going well, though the office turns into a sauna from around eleven AM on. Bleh. I've been doing a lot of longhand in the air conditioned living room, especially since I have a nifty retro-flowered ergonomic lap desk from Target. I love Target. There's something special about writing with a silver Sharpie in a black paper composition book that clicks for me. Now the trick is to find more, for future projects. I have black craft paper, black spiral notebooks, black filler paper, and even a black legal pad (oooh, must play with that soon) but the black composition book is very very rare. The search is on.