To cheer myself up I baked one of my frozen vegetable lasagnas. I intended to make garlic toast with the heel of the French bread I still had, but it had gone moldy so I had to settle for using the heels of a loaf of ordinary white bread. Not as good. It doesn't get crunchy the way French bread does. But the lasagna was good, and succeeded in its task. I've been no more than intermittently morose since then.
Today is to be the first in a row of three somewhat hot days, with highs in the eighties, and I'm not looking forward to it with any pleasure. I comfort myself (if such a thing can be called comforting) that it will soon enough be hotter still, and that will be even more unpleasant. Summer, like death and taxes, is unavoidable, except of curse for those who can switch hemispheres for a season. I am not among those few. Perhaps I should run away from home and become a pirate, and sail away to New Zealand until October. Probably not, though.
Clearly I'm getting to bed too late again, so will probably get up too late again, then go to bed too late again again. Life might be easier if I could still stick to a damned schedule.