Slept badly. Lay in bed fretting about work, friends, the summer. Looked at the orange sky.
My friend E loves the light polluted night sky, and in my few years in the city I've grown attached to it in an odd sort of way. I leave my curtain slightly open.
Sluggish and hoping that translates into easily, silently, swiftly plodding through the last thousand words or so that I need to write before I can begin to edit my dissertation.