rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Drip, Drip, Drip.

(The subject line refers to sweat, in case you didn't guess.)

I wrote an entry this morning, shut Sluggo down to cool before attempting to post it, and then fell asleep without completing the task. Slept for nine hours, waking a couple of times feeling as though my bones had turned to lead and my brain to oatmeal. It's just as well I didn't post that entry, though. I've re-read it, and it's stupid. So to hell with it.

I just had a slice of the first casaba I've bought this season. It isn't quite sweet enough, though the texture is nice. They ought to be very good in a week or two.

The heat is going to kill me. Sluggo will be so disappointed. He thinks that's his job.

Not a single bird on the parched lawn, and the roses are withered. It's all too July for me.

Update: I wrote that at six o'clock, but Sluggo froze up (ironic, considering the heat today) and wouldn't let me post. I had to shut him down the bad way. I fear that he may be starting to rebel against the changes of recent days. Poor Sluggo. If only he knew how much more was yer to come!

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