It’s after 2am and I should be in bed, sleeping. Hell, I was in bed until a few minutes ago, although not sleeping. Just lying there, in the awful heat we’re promised at least three more days of here in Melbourne, and wondering if it would make things a bit cooler if I actually started to flay myself. My body does not deal at all well with extremes of temperature. In winter, at least, I can always put on more clothes, curl up beneath more blankets, turn the heater up an extra couple of notches. In summer, once you’re down to your skin, that’s pretty much it, baby.
I went out into my backyard after I got up and stood in the dark beneath the stars and decided it was maybe 3 degrees cooler outside. Contemplated sleeping in the backyard, on the grass. But I’d have to put clothes on for that, which would defeat the benefit of those extra 3 degrees. Fuck it. Hate summer. Hate the heat. The film of near-dry sweat that is always there. Seriously, have a shower, dry off, and bam: sweat. Again. Still. I refuse to waste water by taking another shower now just to cool down It can wait until morning. Yeah, okay, later in the morning. When the dreadful sun comes up again.
I have Important Things to do tomorrow (yeah, okay, today) and I really should try to get some sleep. And I am tired. It’s just that it’s a weary sort of tired, rather than a sleepy tired. I did no real work tonight, even though I planned to start my new story. Just pushed words around on my Asus for a while, read through some old bits and pieces that I thought maybe I’d work on instead, and then gave up in disgust. Wrote a couple of emails. Christ, I think I might move to Tasmania. It’s colder there, right?
Doesn’t matter how much water I drink, I’m still parched. And my fingers taste like salt.
My poor cats are stretched out as much as they could possibly be. I guess I should just be glad I don’t have fur. Maybe I should shave them both, would that help? Scary witching hour thoughts, Kirstyn. Get the fuck back to bed. Anyone know where that switch is? You know, the one that turns off your brain?
Kirstyn McDermott 