Wow. It's July. And supposedly will be 97 degrees today. [SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAM.] Ugh. The heat takes every — any — the single — ounce of energy I have and vaporizes it. Poof. There it goes. That one ounce. Up in a puffball of steam.
Previous to reaching this shameful state, I was managing quite nicely. It was cold and lovely. I finished this sweater. I started this one. I made this (which is a great recipe but if you make it, do NOT add 4 teaspoons of salt to the marinade and 3 teaspoons to the sauce — those have got to be typos; add 1/2 to 1 teaspoon kosher at the most). I made that quinoa salad. I worked, I watered. My lady love and I had breakfast here. We walked in the woods and looked at people's gardens. We saw a goat in someone's back yard. Everything was so green and cool and lush and fresh. Then, the temperature rose: Oh no, oh no. I turned on the AC. It kept going up. I waved my arms hysterically, from inside the house, at people walking down the sidewalk: OMG! What are you doing? Be careful! It's too hot to go out!!! I saw a woman running on the track. That was when I was in the air-conditioned car for a minute. I was just agog.
I am nuts.
Pooooooooooool. I need the pool. Going today. Can't wait. Baby's first swimming pool!