unwell

I seem to have acquired ocd from hanging around people online. I've had no discipline to finish anything lately, except perhaps this last glass of cab for the night. Hmm.

Part of it is the heat. Sultry baking days. I am reminded that the summer here is like the dead of winter up north, dangerous to be out in, and interminable. Even the pool is over 90 degrees. That isn't refreshing.

It is all relative though. In Michigan, the air rarely gets to 90 and if the water gets into the seventies, we think of it as warm. I need to get back there. My toes curl at the thought of that soft sand.

I've had trouble staying awake today. The sinus infection seems to have control, and if not that then the drugs. Don't talk to me about mixing my wine with my drugs, I'm not driving.

People have been asking me what happened to Megg. I wish I could summon her on a moments notice, feed her a little alcohol and set her loose with her knives and poisons and oh yes those long nails of hers, I do. She's apparently still pissed though, because all I've seen of her in a while is this little fascination with Moths:

They were thick, smoke smudges flitting from the ceiling of the pantry, their casual flight long enough only to choose another place to land. I could close the door and pretend they weren’t there, but even the knowledge that they were there, feasting on the staples, breeding, hatching, multiplying, made me feel dirty. They had to go.

Yes yes, a long way to go. Insects and snakes seem to be what has Megg's attention right now, and sadly, not even the one eyed ones. That concerns me most of all.