Hot. Hot. Hot.

I’m hot, and tired, and frustrated. The more I do, the more I have to do. It’s a never-ending parade of admin, chores, Real Work, Other Work, interspersed with hot nights in what equates to an oven on its top temperature.

It’s a sweltering 35 degrees (Celcius) today in The City Beneath the Mountain, and it did us the favour of going down to a balmy 26 last night. This does not make for easy sleeping and allows for swirly thoughts to, well, swirl. And, honestly, I’d prefer not to have them, thank you very much. They’re turning me inside out and making me feel exposed and silly.

There has been much fun and frivolity and lovely friends visiting and trips to the theatre and funny stories involving my parent’s dog, Daisy, under my bed, but I am just. Too. Tired. To tell them. I’m feeling sad and tumbley-turny, but was feeling oh-so-terribly neglectful of this, here, blog that I thought I must pop in. And grumble, apparently.