It’s too hot to sleep.
It’s too hot to read.
No one told me there was a new Holly Cole album out.
I keep having flashbacks to this afternoon’s anxiety attack, the first in a very long time.
My back hurts. I have blisters on my little toes from my sandals.
I call a do-over on today.
When we got back from Angrignon Park last night (mosquito-bitten but content) we discovered a note on our door. The couple who owned the kitten got her back safe and sound. She had spent most of the day curled up on a pair of my husband’s jeans, napping and purring. The man who came to pick her up said that there was something pretty special about her, and I have to agree.
So: a good deed. And I got to cuddle a tiny kitten again.
I finished HPOTP last night. Harry’s not a kid any more; no sir. If/when they make this film, it will be phenomenal to watch. I’ll have to read it again, but not for a week or so. To give myself a complete change of pace, I read Mort by Terry Pratchett. Next? Not sure; likely more academic stuff on Norse history and society.