Man is it smoldering here in New York City today! I just opened the window to check on the temperature, and a wall of oppressive heat and humidity hit me in the face. Now I'm sure we can't compete with poor Lisa stuck in the middle of the desert in Palm Springs (what is it today, 120?), but hey, you know... it's a dry heat. hehehe.. I bet that'll annoy her.
Am I really blogging about the weather? You've got to be kidding me. Isn't it bad enough that we have to deal with phone calls from cousins and fathers and siblings that go no further than, 'hey how's that weather, huh?' Now I'm actually discussing it where we should be talking about creativity and writing and Karl Rove. No, I just can't go there. I'd rather talk about the heat index.
My mantra is, 'No matter what happens the rest of the week, this weekend, I'll be at My Happy Place.' Ah, deep tissue massage scheduled for Saturday morning. I caaaan't wait!
Now please go back to your pens, turn up the air conditioners, and scribble out some more tiny stories for me. Lisa and I have been really enjoying this project, and I believe we will be extending the deadline to keep you all working hard. More news on that to come.
1 comment:
It's effing hot in effing Maine.
The place where Polar bears go to cool off is offically a muggy wasteland. Sweating is a form of death here. I could only manage to force myself type these words before dying a hot and sweaty death.
Now I'm dead.
How long before they find me?
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