I’m not writing much these days. Heat, apathy, and sickness, both my own and familial, have contributed to my sense of futility and ennui. I’m uninterested in almost everything, save for bad news. It’s good when one’s view of a dark and depressing world is confirmed. Bring on the stories about climate change and ugly humans. Show me dead things and societal collapse.

Starting Michelle Obama’s book, “Becoming” is probably a mistake. It promises to inspire and energize, which conflicts with my determined wallow. I listen to her speak and suddenly feel compelled to get going. The what-to-do would be a problem if I didn’t have projects on the go and ideas in the back of my head. The aforementioned heat stops some of the plans: I’m not carrying on with bathroom renovations during a heatwave. Slow and easy is the plan when the forecast calls for forty-plus degrees by the weekend (in Celsius: one-hundred-and-six on the Fahrenheit scale).

Tidying up old blog posts seems like a cooler choice. There are plenty of sweat-free corrections waiting for me and not only because of my historical rejection of capital letters. I’m rarely as clever as I think I am in a first draft, and most of my early posts were spared the indignity of proofreading. I’m better at it now. I’m better in lots of ways from the early days of the Word Press blog.

I hope you’re better years on as well.