what a difference a day...
I'm sitting on the porch (yay!) in the almost-dusk, listening to the whir of the coke fridge and birds and the occasional thunderclap roll across the sky. My shoulders are bare, my hair is a humidity-frizzed mess, and my arms are probably covered in mosquitos, but if I don't actually SEE them then maybe they're not really there. I'm sipping a glass of wine that, while not exactly my cup of tea (?) is more enjoyable that I would've given it credit for. There's something to be said for cold and sweet-ish on a warm night, and for leaving preconceived notions at the door. Small surprises are lovely.
Work is about to blow up. Even with the small season the anxiety dreams are full-tilt...my subconscious doesn't quite believe, again, that I can actually get it all done. I hope, again, that he (me?) is wrong.
I have a fitbit that doesn't work. I am a faithful Weight Watchers food tracker until I reach the evening, and then the candy in the cupboard makes me its beeyatch. I will likely not shed those last (mumbledymumble) pounds before the summer begins. And, at this point...in the dark, on my porch, listening to the birdsong? I'm unconcerned.
Wishing you a comfortable place to put your feet up, a bug-free outdoor space, a tall ice-filled glass that leaves puddles on your tabletop.