Foggy with a chance of more fog

Alone.  The house is quiet; Vicky’s gone to start a volunteer job, and then will go on to the boyfriend’s house.  I’m home with no car.  Darn.

From my office window I can see the kids next-door, running in the yard in their swimsuits.  I can’t see from here if their pool has been set up or if they’re playing in a sprinkler.  I wish I had that energy.

Something is pollinating, or the mold count is up again.  My head feels over-stuffed with cotton, like it wants to burst a seam.  I’m waiting for the first allergy medicine to kick in before I take the second.  I won’t if I don’t have to.  It’s hard to be patient.

I should be writing but I can’t concentrate.  I barely got my e-mail cleared.  There are crits in my inbox that I could do but probably won’t.  Not right now, at least.  A nap might put me right, but I should be working.

Hmm.  Nap.

Writing.

Nap.

Writing.

Nap.  Then writing.

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