It is thirty degrees above normal here, they say. Hot. Summer skies in winter. Sick humidity, high 80s. Bad storms will surely come this way. The once pristine yard has been taken over by weeds. We pull them by hand but make little headway. It is time for the chemicals.
My sluggishness may come as a reaction to all the pollen in the air. After a short Vespa ride, both Ili and I felt our throats tightening. We felt lethargic.
Last night I slept with the help of Advil P.M. Good stuff. Slept for nine and a half hours. That after an hour nap in the afternoon.
I have nothing of importance to write here, just simple personal complaints. And even there, most are kept secret. There is no plot, no imagery. . . just drab observation of the literal kind.
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