Saturday 12 July 1823 [Halifax] Could not sleep last night. Dozing, hot & disturbed... a violent longing for a female companion came over me. Never remember feeling it so painfully before... It was absolute pain to me.
But here I am in July, and why am I thinking about Christmas pudding? Probably because we always pine for what we do not have. The winter seems cozy and romantic in the hell of summer, but hot beaches and sunlight are what we yearn for all winter.
She sighed, she snored, not that she was asleep, only drowsy and heavy, drowsy and heavy, like a field of clover in the sunshine this hot July day, with the bees going round and about and the yellow butterflies.
Hot. I've been upgraded to hot.No one has ever called me hot. Cute? Yes. Adorable? yes, often and it makes me want to punch them. I didn't know short girls could even be hot. I thought I'd been permanently relegated to elfin-pixie-child status.
July 4. Statistics show that we lose more fools on this day than in all the other days of the year put together. This proves, by the number left in stock, that one fourth of July per year is now inadequate, the country has grown so.
The second rule of improvisation is not only to say yes, but YES, AND. You are supposed to agree and then _add something of your own._ If I start a scene with 'I can't believe it's so hot in here, ' and you just say, 'Yeah... ' we're kind of at a stand-still. But if I say, 'I can't believe it's so hot in here, ' and you say, 'What did you expect? We're in hell.' Or if I say, 'I can't believe it's so hot in here, ' and you say, 'Yes, this can't be good for the wax figures.' Or if I say, 'I can't believe it's so hot in here, ' and you say, 'I told you we shouldn't have crawled into this dog's mouth, ' now we're getting somewhere.