Heatstroke

It's stiflingly hot again, the heat clinging to my skin and clogging my mind, quelling any motivation to do anything productive. The temperature is only bearable downstairs, where I holed myself up for the better part of the afternoon with a book and a cat. Descending the stairs feels like peeling a thick layer of wool off myself, finally hearing and seeing my surroundings with clarity. In this weather, I feel excused from being creative. However, reading Neil Gaiman's introductions to Smoke and Mirrors had my mind boiling with concepts; the brief descriptions of each of the texts' genesis proved to be an inspiration surge like few things these days. I didn't get through many of the actual short stories before I had to go water the garden, yet I was influenced by the visions he paints with his words already. Fun thing? Once I got out from the blessed chill of my basement, all of it fled my mind without trace or even a word of farewell. Ergo, it's high time I moved north from the polar circle; incessant daylight would only be a perk for someone with no regard for the time of day, anyways.
Two months ago I promised myself a NaNoWriMo and only got down five pages in my trusty notebook, out of which perhaps a half is of any literary worth. Words are assaulting me at times, but they dart about so erratically that I have little chance of capturing them and writing down, let alone incorporating into one of the pieces I'm currently working on. The closest I got to writing in recent days is this post, a sorry ass excuse for a text; here's to hoping it gets me back on track and making progress on any of my WIPs.
Cheers, everyone; cheers, my anonymous IE user from the USA, the apparently only visitor to my blog, if the stats Blogger provides me with are worth anything. [: