It’s a hot day. Walk to psychologist in the heat. This is the first time I’ve seen her since my mood dropped and it is helpful to talk to her. Then walk to the station, catch train to parentals and walk home. We have lunch in the garden and I take the attached photos.
Do Body Scan but can’t sleep. The fan is on in the living room as we watch the tennis. The panther lies on the sofa next to me, his heavy head resting in my lap. Stroking the top of his head, I feel hot. It’s 25 degrees out there and humid and this house is made of glass so it’s hot and airless in here.
It’s 1 – 1 in the first set. Am drinking iced coffee. At least am not at Wimbledon in the sun, I think, as the panther gazes at the screen, following the ball with his amber eyes.
Happy Wednesday everyone!
*1951. By Bernard Newman. Tennis crime novel.