It's the end of summer in Cleveland and no warmer than the beginning. This is so alien to me, coming from California where triple digit temperatures are the usual fare. I love it, though I'm sure it's a harbinger of global death to have 65 degree days in August. Nevertheless, I'm so bowed by current crap in my life that I sit in my office and don't work and stare out the window. I feel wretched, let's just say that.
But I'm going back to California on Friday. San Diego, to be exact--yes, I missed Comic-Con, (though The Orphan's Tales didn't, it was there, the sequel in goodie bags and on the big dealer stretch--any sightings?) but justbeast has a convention to attend and I'm doing the tagging along for once. I went to college in San Diego, so it seemed like a good idea to slay some old ghosts. So if anyone is in the greater SD area this weekend and wants to hang out, I'll be about. Email me and I'll give you my cell.
At the moment I've managed to convince my old Greek professors to lunch with me and plan on sightseeing on Ye Olde Memorye Lane(e). And roasting in the heat. And being allergic to eucalyptus trees.
San Diego was never home, I never liked it there, but it's part of me, and I'm grotesquely fascinated to see how I react to it now.
Back to non-work, non-life, etc.