Everyone's on one. Except me. Pout. Every time Erik and I try to leave town, something happens. First of all, it's nearly impossible to even have a weekend because Erik works on Saturday and Sunday. I teach on Tues & Thurs. That leaves Wednesday. Harumph.
This added to the heat and the fact that I'm watching the icky weatherman--Roland Steadham--who smiles every time he says a hundred degrees, makes me grumpy. Perhaps Cleo the dog and I will take a trip north--say to Alaska (or at least Heber) for another writing vacation. I can entertain myself for about two days. Off and on. With internet access. And a little TV. And six books. One day I'll be like my mother-in-law and be able to stay alone in Torrey or camping for weeks at a time. In fact, maybe I'll go STAY with my mother-in-law up at the very tippy top of Emigration canyon. It must be cold--or at least 90 degrees--up there.