Apparently it is 96 degrees in my hometown presently--and swimming-through-the-air humid--but really, anything over 83 is the same to me. My hair increases in volume and sheer presence, I stay inside of the house, my diet turns to solely ice-cream products and I pretty much forgo pants all together.
I keep asking my parents why we don't live in Canada.
They have NOT provided a sufficient answer.
So, because nobody else seems to mind the heat, we have not turned on the air conditioner. I have thus confined myself to our attic, which, along with being equipped with a working computer and television (albeit a television with one channel), HAS ITS OWN AC.

It does not, however, have a bathroom. D:

I went to the doctor today. After a pleasant description of what exactly I've been choking up (green, gelatinous, tastes like burnt-popcorn-sour-milk-dead-people--he DID ask), I was diagnosed with bronchitis. I'm not sure whether that means I should go to work or not...? I mean, it's typically not contagious (I think), but who wants Hacky McChokerson harshin' up their library time?

But don't get me wrong--I'm in a happy place right now. I have my own personal frigid little fortress of solitude, access to to the internet and ice cream, and TIME. Time to DRAW. Which for some reason I have not been doing.

So I'm not bored, exactly. Just pleasantly devoid of any real responsibilities.
And that's how I like it.

--Katie

NOTE: I cannot change my mood-thingy. I would not call myself "euphoric" at present--more like comfortably vacant.