So if I’m sitting on my back porch, writing, and then the air conditioner starts to squeak, and then suddenly it sounds like firecrackers are going off inside of it, and then sparks start to shoot out of the top, that’s a good excuse for not getting much writing done that day, right?
Anyway, the A/C is totally fried and, in the words of the repair guy, “condemned.” I would do a lengthy whiny post about the lack of A/C…but not all of my readers are in Florida, or even southern climates, or such locations where they won’t say “I had to scrape ice off my windshield this morning, and you’re complaining about your freakin’ AIR CONDITIONER not working? I’ll never buy another of your books!”
(Yes, I’ve gone on record as saying that I don’t do cold weather, but I meant outside.)
Gleefully Macabre 