right now, all i want is to pick up the phone and call my travel agent with whom i have a mutually love-hate relationship (because i do not like her attitude but she gets the job done efficiently) and book a plane ticket out of this heat.
and i would simultaneously make a car booking and arrange to book a cottage in the woods.
now, when i get there, i’ll have me a hot cuppa chocolate, drap blankets over myself and indulge in a good riveting book.
but alas, i can’t. and i sit here, and sulk.