Workless

It's one of those hot and undecided days that the tropics throw up every now and then. Like warm puke, it is humid, stinky, offensive, neither hot nor cold, so lukewarm that it just could not be tolerated anywhere near the mouth.

It isn't that bad a day, and I have seen many like it. But it is one of those days that leaves you sticky and wondering why on earth you have bothered to try to do anything. It started out well, with rain, but did not continue.

I watered the plants again this morning. Everywhere was packed mud. The old steading has a roof corner about to fall apart. We'll have termites next, again, the damned things. They are truly like the lemures of legend, mindless and misbegotten cockroach-cousins of some nether Hell. Worse, they eat books.

I think I have done some work today, but it is ghastly, patchy, with holes in it. You can see right through it, and it makes you feel queasy, much as driving in a rust bucket might.

Today is one of those days. I'm sure it is better than it looks. I will go and take a look, and maybe report back.