Have to write this entry quickly, as I’m trying to beat the heat today. Literally. It’s supposed to be in the mid-nineties, which means if you want to get anything done—i.e important errands like going to buy dog food—you have to do it early, before the mercury really starts to climb. Tomorrow, we’re supposed to hit one hundred. Here’s my theory: the hotter it’s going to be, the earlier I try to get out and back home in the A/C. Which means that tomorrow, most likely, I’ll be at Whole Foods around 7am. But I’ll be cool, at least.
What can you do, it’s July. I’ve been so mellow these last couple of (hot) weeks, laying low, that I honestly feel like I haven’t been doing anything at all. Even though I KNOW I have been: cleaning out closets, paying bills, watching Six Feet Under on DVD, not to mention Le Tour. But when I try to think back to what I did the day before, or the day before that, it’s all kind of s slow, easy blur. Hmmmmm. Like the days are just running into each other, hot and slow, punctuated only by eating watermelon cubes and reading books. At least I know it’s not just me. Last night I was on the phone with Bianca, and we hadn’t talked in awhile. “So what’s going on?” she asked me. “Um,” I said. Then I tried to think of something exciting to report, and came up short. “Nothing much. You?” She sighed. “Nope. Nothing.” And the thing is, we’re both working, and being social, and all that. But even so, it’s like the heat has gone to our heads.
Maybe, though, this is the way it’s supposed to be. It’s like what I said at the top of this entry: you have to slow down in this heat, or you’ll literally kill yourself. Perhaps this is a holdover from our cavemen (caveperson?) days, or even further back, a way the body and mind learned to adapt to the hotter weather. Save all that chatter and busy stuff for October, when the air is crisp and you can handle it. For now, let your brain turn to mush. Crawl under a rock like a lizard and lay low. It’s what’s supposed to happen.
(Man, that was a lot deeper than I thought I was capable of, to be honest with you. Whew! Must be because, right now, it’s only in the eighties.)
Finally, a summer reading update: this weekend I finished Never Let Me Go, a book that had been highly recommended by my editor. She loved it so much I had to run out and find it, but I have to admit…I just didn’t really get it. I mean, I GOT it—and I don’t want to give anything away here—but I guess I was expecting more of a punch, or something. It was so painstakingly written, so heavy on the interior monologue, and while it has stuck in my mind since I finished it (which means it was a good book) I’m still not sure that I liked it. It’s entirely possible my brain just isn’t up to Literature right now, though. Or perhaps having it so hyped to me meant it was bound to be kind of a disappointment. I don’t know. Maybe I should read it again in October?