I think this heat wave is impeding my ability to think. I mean, it was never that strong to begin with, but now I seem to be at a loss for thought, for words. Yesterday was more of a blind heat kind of thing (I still carried a watermelon home for C -- three klicks or so, mostly uphill -- because that's all she'll eat, watermelon and revels and freezies) but today is just overcast or strangled with smog from Toronto and all your senses tell you that there's a gigantic wet diaper hidden somewhere nearby. It's exhausting. Management has compensated for a failure of the air-conditioning system by giving one of our fans to an office down the hall.

Illo for a story, pen and ink composites. Somehow our writer's group managed to stumble along all summer, and here in the basement that is the end of August I'm more or less just pulling stories out of the air every Tuesday, feeling about as much imaginative power as an electric fireplace (or that fireplace channel you can watch on Christmas day). Still, I'm pretty disciplined about bringing something every week, and this does eventually add up to something. The even bigger struggle is going back to edit them, and then sending them out.

Ordered a Mini 10v Netbook last night. I was tired of having to listen to C every time I used her laptop (makesureyouplugitbackin, makesureyouplugitbackin, makesureyouplugitbackin, plug it in, plug it in, plug it in, plugitin, plugitin, plugitinplugitinplugitinplugitinplugitinplugitinplugitinplugitinplugitinplugitin and so on) so I finally broke the bank. Some mild buyer's remorse today (I really wanted a tiger instead, so Ernie and Magnum could feed him play with him) but at least I got one in the colour red.


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