I don’t like spring and summer where I live. While I do despise heat and humidity of ANY kind (my heater in the winter doesn’t go above 65 degrees), the main reason I hate these times of year is due to the massive amount of children in my complex. Warmer weather means open windows, means screaming, playing and running around until midnight or later on the weekends. No not the little children, they do that until dark. I’m talking about the teenagers (and some parents who like to hang with the teens and all get high together).

So today was the first time I sat outside with my son since the fall, and believe it or not, it wasn’t so bad. Probably ’cause half of the apartments are empty, lol. The kids had a ball, I had a decent time talking to some of my neighbors. For me, the slate is clean. But it’s only a matter of months before some of the shrieking children manage to grate my nerves to pure raw nothingness, and I want to throttle them. Until then, it’s fine.

Of course, with going to bed at 2 this morning and waking at 11 this morning, it means I still have 5 pages of my book to write–maybe I’m rebelling and procrastinating, because folding that laundry earlier seemed much more productive than dealing with Brody and his magical problems.

So I’m off now to try and get the pages done AND get to bed at a reasonable time, so I can redirect my schedule and start getting up at 7 AM again. Wish me luck!

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