The dog days of August are upon us. Last night was one of the first nights there wasn't a midnight breeze to blow through the house and cool it down. This morning the house resounds with the whir of large box fans near the windows. It feels like being aboard an aircraft -- either a dirigible or a turbo-prop plane -- but it's worth it because two fans have managed to cool the house down by seven degrees down to 72F in about an hour.
Not a whole lot from the Dream Department that I'm comfortable sharing. This morning I suddenly remembered last night's dream and started laughing. I did what with who? At least it's kind of funny instead of icky. And it was in a cool forest house made out of stones half-set into a hill. I'm still trying to figure out what the dream means.
My writing discipline has gone out the window. This week's goal is to actually finish one of the several unfinished manuscripts I've got in my pile.
But first, the Day Job.