It's a sticky one. I sit upstairs in the t.v. room, box fan rumbling like a winded jogger, doing its best to blow the evening air through the room. Pepito, exhausted, lays on a blanket on the couch. I switch back and forth between The Dog Whisperer and The Yanks vs Texas. Down 4-1, now in the 6th, they battled back to 4-3. Joba's takes the mound - good luck. It seems every time he pitches, it's Christmas for the other team. Pop up. One out - maybe I can relax, and come to terms with my lack of writing output. I haven't been posting. Part of it is that I've been adjusting to my new contract, and so far, six weeks into it, things are good. Joba just gave up a two-run homer - when will the Yanks finally get rid of him? Anyways, it feels good to find my groove work-wise, but my writing output has been low. I could say writing is hard, and that it's even harder in the heat and humidity, but that's a lame excuse, and rather than make more excuses, I'm just going to say, tonight is the start of a new and lasting burst of expression, heat and humidity, Yankees win or loss - no more excuses.
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