When you're around me, I'm somebody else.

If you thought writing in a vacuum was hard, try writing in an autoclave. That's how it feels right now. I'm stuck in the office with the door shut and no window open. I have a fan running on high, but it's not like the air has anywhere to go. I'd open the door, but Sophie is in with me and I want to keep her from pestering the folks in the front living room having a meeting. Not that having the door open would really make a big difference. My real beef is with the window, which opens up into the pigeon tunnel of filth and gross smells. At least the warm air in here doesn't make me gag.

I had a wonderfully productive day that included a trip to the northwestern libraries in evanston for more training on my freelance gig, then a stopover in Boystown for a joint study session with limenal for a couple hours (where I got a lot accomplished in addition to some chatting and coffee drinking), and now back home to work on my story. I like my story. It's just not unfolding as fast as I'd like. Or rather, I'm not typing as fast as I'd like. It's unfolding perfectly fine.

But I will stay in the room and keep plugging along for another hour or so, despite the heat, despite the temptation for cookies, despite the numerous people outside the door I could talk to.