I wrote and wrote the other day about memory. About it's power and it's instability. About the wealth of joy it can bring and about the ways it can cripple us.
And then I lost it. I thought I pressed 'Save'...but nonetheless..it was gone. And I tried to remember just what I had written so that I could save it. But the lovely thing about writing for me is that it is organic, and it flows out and it cannot be re structured with the same grace it has the first time. So. One day I may again touch on the subject of memory, but it will not be today.
Today, I will write briefly about heat. It's so dang hot. I feel damp and cranky. Sleeping is a mixed bag. I go to bed cool..ish. I wake in a fit of heat that feels like I am the only source of it that there ever was and it radiates out of me in waves, in undulating rivulets of irritable sticky..heat. Living in the attic is for the squirrels...and even they move out in the summer.