So I'm sweating here, in the early afternoon, uncertain as to what I am to do with myself. One of these days I want to suddenly change in the middle of a sentence to a high-fantasy novel set in a world of wizards and warriors. Just to run with it. And this is not nonsense, but a well-earned shift. It would be a particularly bad novel in that way.

My routines of summer will not long last, I fear.