A perfectly reasonable month, this June. The first week was cool and Seattleish, except the Monday and Friday which broiled; the second week was cool and sunny except the Monday and Friday with their violent thunderstorms; the third week was cool enough to need fleecies indoors except it rained every blessed day; and the fourth week was a recap of everything that went before- thunder, cool, hot, mug and rain. On the down side, it rained four Sundays out of five; on the up side it only rained intermittently, like during those six thunderstorms on the 15th.
However the thing last week signally failed to do was have the hottest day of the summer and the peak energy use. Go back through the stats and you'll regularly find readings of 33 and 35 C (mid-nineties F; over 100 with the humidity) for the last week in June. Count me grateful. We still had a power outage of four hours yesterday, and did not have it at work so we could close the centre.
Nothing in Japanese but Kurotsubaki 5& 7.
Guards! Guards! (reread)
Not one of these is like the other. It's even a long reach from Guards! Guards! to Thud! No wonder this felt like a long month.
Rereads good. Guards! Guards! was my first discworld, under not-the-best-conditions in the world (doped for a low pressure headache with half my mind on how much snow do we have out there and should I go shovel it again?) The early version of Vimes and Vetinari instructive. I'd forgotten The World According to Vetinari:
"You have to believe that, I appreciate. Otherwise you'd go quite mad. Otherwise you'd think you're standing on a feather-thin bridge over the vaults of Hell. Otherwise existence would be a dark agony and the only hope would be that there is no life after death. I quite understand.
"Do you believe all that, sir?" he said. "About the endless evil and the sheer blackness?"
"Indeed, indeed," said the Patrician, turning over the page. "It is the only logical conclusion."
"But you get out of bed every morning, sir?"
"Hmm? Yes? What is your point?"
"I'd just like to know why, sir."
"Oh, do go away, Vimes. There's a good fellow."
Can't say I wrote nothing last month, but I finished nothing. This contrasts with last year, when I wrote on average over a story a month. Alas, I dislike everything I wrote last year. Kleenex reading-- use once and discard. They weren't intended to be but that's how they turned out.
More and more I'm realizing that the real reason I write is to have something to read (and reread.) CS Lewis' thing: no one writes what I want to read so I have to write it myself. And half the time it turns into a story I don't want to read either. This is called despair. OTOH sometimes I write to have a story to write, for the process and not the product. If Kaiei at the Southern Ocean wasn't so balky it'd be fine for that, because it's long and slow and goes nowhere, and I can consider dragon mores and dragon customs and semi-Confucian dragon attitudes while I write it, without being bothered by the fact that I shan't want to read it when it's done. But it balks so that even the writing of it is only intermittently fun. Sadness.