It's been a long, hot weekend. The forecast cyclone petered out (and I can only pray the two off the Qld coast do the same), but we still had the heat, the high humidity and the general oppressiveness of it all. It exploded my writing plans.
I know the myth is that what with air conditioning and commitment we can ignore the weather and do whatever the hell we want these days, but in practice, I find I can't. Feral weather means feral grumpiness, and a total inability to concentrate.
On the plus side, I read the Guardian Weekly cover to cover, I'm over halfway through London by Peter Ackroyd (which is awesome and my new standard for social history readability) and I have an idea for a new paranormal romance series of novellas -- yeah, just what I need, another project!
And you have no idea how hard it was not to take to Twitter and tweet about the weather and its horridness this morning. Self-indulgent whining -- is technology an enabler?