All of a sudden it feels like summer.
I’ve still got this blasted cast on my arm. It’s such a hindrance! I can’t swim. It’s completely messing with my exercise routine –although there are still things I can do. I can’t garden. Everything I can do takes at least 50% more time than it would otherwise . . .
But I guess I should not complain. It could certainly be worse. A full body cast would be way worse, for instance.
The other thing, though, is the way that not being able to type kind of means I can’t really think. So there’s not a lot of thinking going on here.
Which maybe is okay for summer.
I finished rereading Regency Buck, which has a really interesting construction, and am on to The Grand Sophy.
I’ve been watching a lot of the World Cup.
I’ve given up on eating much — it’s just too hard.
I’ve got two summer conferences to go to — and am seriously regretting I said I’d go to either — What kind of profession makes you go to conferences in summer when you really should be napping by the lake?
All right, then, I’ve got stuff to do. Stuff that will take me way longer than it ought to . . .