It’s a rainy Monday after a string of oppressively hot days. Saturday I tried to do an art fair, but after less than 30 minutes I felt faint.
It’s one of the nicer ones, too, with truly talented artists as opposed to the type of fair where you wonder if everyone has been too kind to the people hopefully springing for booths. Art is hard.
Art is even harder if you intend to make a living at it. Not that I’d know anything about that.
And now it’s Monday like the weekend never happened, like the relaxation has vanished into a never-was. Yeah, fine, right, maybe the rain has made me a little melodramatic.
But only a tad.
I’m feeling unsettled for reasons I couldn’t pin down, which is odd as the rain usually calms me. I love a good rain. I love a dramatic rain, though this one isn’t. Steady, by the looks of it. No thunder, though.
You know what I call this. Writing weather.
Though I’m not sure that’s going to work today, I’ll have to see. Other things to do, but maybe they can be shifted. Such romantic notion, writing in the rain.
Well, not IN the rain. I don’t think my computer would enjoy that very much. Though note to self: waterproof computers, the wave of the future. GET IT? Wave?
I told you, all over the place today. I wonder if more coffee would help?
Doesn’t it always?
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