Took a sick day, yesterday, and ended up writing two and a half chapters, almost 6K words. One of my more productive sick days. Looking at my notes, it seems that July is consistently fairly productive. I think the wretchedly hot weather keeps me indoors and at a task that won’t make me pass out from heat prostration, e.g. writing. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I’m disinclined to move more than absolutely necessary, and yet, I can’t do *nothing.*
Plotting is also a terrific distraction. I can’t feel sorry for myself at the same time that I’m disposing of a corpse, so to speak. Action! Romance! Mystery! Witty banter! Wheeeeeeee!!!
I have therapy this afternoon. My therapist will be unhappy that I’m still having troubles, but pleased that I’m using writing as a coping tool. Her enthusiasm for the activity makes me feel like Doctor Watson. Not a bad thing, all in all.
Brief, very brief, thunderstorm last night. Just a wee, tiny spit of rain, despite the clatter and bang. All bark, and very little bite. I hear that we’ve had 18 days without rain. That’s not anything like the record, but might come as a surprise to those who think of the PNW as the place where The Sun Never Shines. In fact, we have what is called a Mediterranean climate: temperate, with damp winters and dry summers.