Here I sit, on the porch, no longer in front of the fire, waiting for my ichat buddy to show up this evening. And here he is . . . more later.

Well, that was that. It was 79? in Georgia today; supposedly these are the beautiful days of spring down there. I think you have to be born to it; for me such weather would put me into a funk about the upcoming blazing, humid summer. Now, I can enjoy autumn, knowing winter is on the way, but that also means the holidays and shorter days that are so good for reading when the temperature outside in not inviting away.

But, Georgia? The heat that ties people to their air-conditioning is when the days are long. You sit inside and stare out at a  world that is too hot to function well in. Although, maybe Georgia would be a good place to lose weight – you leave the AC off and just sit on the porch drinking iced tea and sweating and not taking in any calories that would have to be processed.

I’d better make the best of it and maybe things will work out better for me. I need a plan: how about a personality cheer up job? Then some weight loss. That would be a start.

My mother won’t go anywhere; she says, “What if I get there and get sick? What if I die? You’ll have to get my body home. I grew up with this . . . and I think I’m kind of mad about it. Did I make a little jump from Georgia to my life in general to Mother? I guess I did.  I am testy tonight, and sarcastic . . . and feel like having a temper tantrum of total frustration. You know, one of those where you stomp your feet up and down, utter a moaning growl of desperation and sometimes hit your head against the sofa arm. (Sofa arm is a little odd-sounding, but it is so much smarter than using a wall.)

Somehow, Mother must be responsible for Georgia . . .