Partly, it's just the persistent heat, which exacerbates my natural tendency to sloth, so that all I want to do is look at stuff that's undemanding and distracts me from my discomfort. Yes, I blame the weather. The weather has become so unpleasant of late that I don't even want to write about it any more! I don't know when it will change sufficiently to regain my interest. Until then, I might as well be that egg that doesn't really fry on the sidewalk but just sits there and rots, and eventually gets eaten by insects. This is my brain. This is my brain on heat. Any questions? Don't bother. I don't feel like answering them.
Of course, I could be worse off. I could get struck by lightning. Does anybody have any idea why Thor is so pissed at the Boy Scouts? Is Thor gay?
I wish I was one of the guys in Bazille's Summer Scene. Of course, if I were, then I'd be dead by now, as it was painted in 1869. But it might be worth it, just to get out of this heat (that I wasn't going to bitch about anymore) once and for all.