The British Media has spent the day repeatedly expressing relief that the 'heat wave' has ended. The previous three days were full of 'warnings' and 'advice' on how to cope. As I understand it, some places in south England saw temperatures over that time as high as 32 C (89 F). Here in Wales – where, I should note the heat warnings were all in effect - we never got above 27 C (80 F). Right now it's 18 and cloudy. None of this is doing much to prepare me for August in the states.
My other contribution of the day is to assert baldly that no one must be capable of reading his or her own book. I reached the threshold today, that point at which I feel genuinely sick of the book I'm working on. I wrote the first words for this book back in February of 2004, and it's due to the publisher in January 2007; for an academic text, that's a relatively short timeline. Nonetheless, I'm already ready to never have to see it again. But, I promise, I'll do my darndest not to let that attitude seep into the text.
And while I will be absolutley thrilled to see it in print, I'm currently just very grateful that there are no more substantive chapters to draft. This feeling also makes me sympathise for those academics who spend their entire careers defending, repeating, and reworking one central idea. I can't imagine being forced to write another book on the same topic.