It continues to be overcast today, though the clouds have a bit more definition than they did yesterday, and the sun occasionally breaks through. When it does, it is very hot. Otherwise, the day is not unpleasant outdoors. In the house, alas, it is hot enough to break Sluggo, but not hot enough to justify turning on the air conditioning. It looks like another computer-free night ahead. I'll probably go for a walk this evening, as I did last evening for the first time in about two weeks. The unaccustomed dampness in the air diminishes the pleasure of exercise, but the fact is that my pants are getting too tight, and I have no intention of buying new ones, or (the horror, the horror) giving up beer. Heat or no, it's time to walk off that roll of fat that's beginning to spill over my waistband.
Last night, there was a fuzzy crescent of moon floating among the clouds for a while, and sprinkles of rain fell periodically all night, but dried almost as soon as they hit the ground. Despite the pleasure I took in the scene, it failed to inspire me. The last few weeks have drained me of all literary desire, and I wander through the world with my thoughts as mute as a zombie's tongue. The sound of each heated leaf rustled by a vagrant breeze stirring the gray afternoon makes me long for autumn and chilly, invigorating wind. But more than half the summer is yet to be endured. I know how the dogs feel.