So last night it was officially hot enough that I couldn't sleep. Time to move the pedestal fan back from the workroom to the bedroom, I reckon. I had to get out the My Little Pony icepack.
'Course, there's a lot going on in the old rumination factory. It turns out putting together a poetry collection makes me a little crazy. I seriously almost started crying in the library yesterday because I couldn't think of something to put after a poem I wanted to come first, and then I obsessed about that problem for the rest of the day and am looking at going at it again this aft. What with that, bridges, and miners, there isn't a lot of spare brain power.
So if you see me walking or running about and I look like I might put a fist through a wall, I promise...it ain't you, baby.

In other news, I was reflecting yesterday on what an interesting and rewarding summer this has been. Niece and London, and projects aside, I've read quite a few books. A re-read of HP 6 and then 7 was joined by Hugh Laurie's The Gun Seller, a couple of Dick Francis novels, Ordering the Storm about poetry collections, and others. Recently I finished off a library book entitled Madmen of History, an old edition. While the writing is spotty (in one chapter I found myself completely uncertain of what exactly was supposed to be mad about Rasputin, since the text said little about his deeds and more on the people who relied on him and then those who killed him), the book was at least interesting. Now I'm reading a book called Sex With the Queen, which is already telling me all kinds of things I didn't know, in the most matter-of-fact ways, such that I find myself wondering if it's all really true, as one does with gossip. Amazon calls it "scandalously readable." The fact that these last three books are nonfiction is amazing in and of itself. That two of them are history is nothing short of astounding, since that has never been my favorite subject. In the mighty words of Ralph Wiggum, "I'm learn-ding!"