The summer is hot, and I fan myself to stay cool. Then grab for the glass of ice tea beside me as I wipe the sweat from my forehead. I’ve been hoping for rain or at least a dip in the temperature. The lake is quite far away, so I consider settling for a refreshing bath. In the winter I would complain about the drive to work, or frigid temperatures so I remind myself how lucky I am not to have to drive to work in the snow. It will, however, come again. I sip my tea then set it down and get up out of my chair and head into the only room with A.C. I grab a book off of my shelf next to my bed to escape for a bit. Thank goodness for the imaginations of other authors. I don’t feel I can write in this heat today. Perhaps I can lift myself up enough to write tomorrow. I can’t hold off forever, or my stories will never be written.