heaven’s gonna burn our eyes

so today yesterday was Hot, like the bureau said it would be. (or whoever, I think BoM was saying 31…they were wrong, and Weatherzone was giving a more correct reading at the time due to having more stations on its network, or whatever?) 37 degrees C in spring and stop, it’s time to stop, okay?! where are your parents?! caravan’s aircon could barely handle it, there was DEFINITELY no relaxing afternoon smoking going on — not even in the shade — and WHY does hot weather bring all the creepy-crawlies out after dark?! we started getting Christmas beetles back in September, ffs, enough’s enough! (that’s like…getting June bugs in March, basically. I think they’re almost precisely the same type of beetle, anyway?)

…if I was at home in my studio I wouldn’t even care, but if I think about that, I’ll cry, and that will make the headache worse. so. let’s talk about something else. anything else.

I’m…getting bored a lot. that’s more to do with all my stuff that I usually entertain myself being stuffed in boxes in the shed/Mum’s sewing room than the depression, which is good, I guess, but it doesn’t move any of my stuff into here, and there wouldn’t be enough room anyway. also, I’ve discovered that I’m hopeless with cupboards…if I can’t see a thing, I forget I have it and thus forget it’s an option to like…look at/listen to/decorate stuff with, so on. shelves, baby. gimme shelves. with cute gauzy curtains I can pull across the front if I want things to look tidier.

I know I (we, really) have to exorcise All That Shit and logicalise it and put it into its right steel boxes so we can shove it away and just live happily again, but it sucks doing so. I suppose it’s something now that I can state outright and completely truthfully that I have no intention of becoming a ‘published’ writer and no regrets about that, whatever they would believe. I’m still a writer, still a poet. the money would be nice, sure, but…it’s not even worth that. which doesn’t mean I devalue writing, it means that writing is actually more important than money. and I’m fucking Scottish, man.

tiredness creeping back in, so methinks I’ll creep back into bed. not sure if anything’s happening today (apart from paying bills, hooray for payday…’cept not, gimme more money, bastards!) but maybe the wigs I ordered for my latest Pullip girls (ALL under $100?! for CUSTOMS?! the artist didn’t get enough credit!) will arrive? hopefully I’ll be awake in time to put the aircon on at the proper moment, but eh, if I don’t, what can you do.