A heat wave crashed over my town last week. I haven’t checked to see if the weathermen agree, but my armpits know it’s been too hot for too long. My body odor can compete with any biological weapon on the black market today, but everyone around is too busy reining in their own to comment on mine.

Last night’s five-day forecast put Tuesday’s high at 96 degrees. That’ll turn the tin box I call home into an oven, and I already feel over-cooked; a dry, stringy chicken soaked in gravy to make it edible. And with a week of mid-80s-plus temperatures working on my nether regions, I know about gravy.

I’ve spent most of the week trying to make my brain cells work together long enough to read, do some research and write. There was also the matter of fixing the porch, but that didn’t really require any thought on my part.

My brain works well enough in the morning, but by noon I’m completely baked and barely making sense.

After two it’s like I’m a late-comer to a party where everyone is already three drinks past sober. I try to communicate, but the impedance mismatch is too great. Then I realize it’s me who’s out of his mind so I just try to be quiet and hope no one notices I’m high on heat stroke.

At three o’clock I’m sitting on the couch when I notice I’m sitting in the recliner.

“Did I get up? Jesus, I can’t even remember.”

By four, the things happening on television are moving too quickly for me to keep up.

I’m writing this at 4:30 p.m. on Sunday. That should explain any quality concerns you may have about this post.

I wanted to write about what I’ve read in the last couple of weeks. I haven’t written any indie reviews for a bit, because I haven’t read any indie books. Or any fiction for that matter. Well, I finally read Stephen King’s The Green Mile a couple weeks back. And I just read Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but that hardly counts as fiction.

Most of what I’ve been reading is either industry/craft stuff like this book on journalism I’m going through, or political/social commentary like Thompson’s The Great Shark Hunt.

Anyway, if you’re wondering where the hell my reviews are that should solve the mystery. I’ll be back reading fiction soon, but probably not before my vacation. The stack of novels next to the couch, and the ebooks on my Kindle, have been calling me and even the most thought-provoking non-fiction can’t keep the voices quiet for long.

Or maybe that’s just the heat talking.