it’s too effing hot

It’s Friday and I’ve only managed to achieve two of the goals I set myself for the first week of 2011, I cleared my desk and wrote a prologue for my second novel. I’ve been putting off clearing my desk for several months, mainly because I haven’t had the balls to tackle novel 2 or 3 with any real gusto. The manuscripts sit forlornly on opposite corners, gathering dust and dead flies. Somehow, over the months, a few rogue pages that have nothing to do with either book have managed to insinuate themselves into the stack, and the first couple of pages of novel 3 have disappeared entirely. I suspect in one of my dark hours I made a shopping list or jotted down a phone number.

As to the tasks I haven’t managed, all I can say in my defense is: it’s too effing hot. I feel sapped, unable to do much beyond wallow in my child’s paddling pool or lie on the sofa with the fan blasting while watching TED talks. If I had a T.V. I’d probably watch the cricket or daytime soaps, that’s how little I care right now. Luckily for my brain, I don’t own a TV, (though that is soon to change) and I forced to broaden my mind in eighteen minute interludes with the world’s most inspirational thinkers (to kind of quote TED).  A  talk by Jamie Oliver on tackling obesity sparked an idea for a blog post, but my plans to call a fatwa against Jamie will have to wait until the heat wave breaks, because it, unlike this post, will require me to construct well-thought out arguments and thought is beyond me right now.

It’s too effing hot. My toddler is rattier than hippy hair. I’ll see you on the other side.