It’s hot. It’s hot for Finland. Hell, it’s pretty hot for Australia, and Finland has 20-hour days. It’s been hotter, for longer, than just about any time in Finland’s history. Every now and then it gets cloudy, but it hasn’t really rained in weeks. It feels like a thunderstorm could break at any moment, but there’s no sign of it.
It feels like the fucking Dark One touching the world.
And we knew this was coming. Nobody gets to be surprised. We’ve been told that the heat records of the past will be broken, and broken again, for longer periods. This is all just the way it is. It could be an unseasonable hot spell. It could be an anomaly. But it doesn’t feel like it.
I’ve had my ups and downs, some periods of sinking. But this doesn’t feel like that either. I’m lucid, active. For want of a better word, happy. Writing’s going pretty slow because I’ve gone into goanna mode like I usually would in Australian summer, but I’m fine with it. I’m not letting depression make me bleak. This is just reality making me scared.
I lay awake last night until about half-past two, thinking about what we should do if the forest around us catches fire (as they have had warnings in effect for the past month). Planning on backing up my writing onto a portable hard drive so I can throw it in the back of the car along with whatever else we have that matters. Mostly though, I’d let Mrs. Hatboy and the girls decide what to take. Wallet and phone is really all we need otherwise. This is why those (*shitty racist snort*) “poor desperate refugees” have smartphones. Because of course they do. It makes sense.
I’m not sure all my writing, Phase Three and beyond, will get finished. I remain hopeful that our contempt for nature and our fortunate placing on the globe (both physical and economic) will get us through this, and I’ll just get to carry on. Right now, though, I’m just hoping to finish the last two story anthologies of Phase Two and call an end to it if I need to. I’ve got a nice set of complete stories published, and while there will always be loose ends hanging, I’m fairly satisfied that there are no incomplete half-stories out there.
Yes, I’m fixating on my writing. Like the weather, this should not come as a surprise to anyone who’s been paying attention. The question of what my family and I can do if this gets worse (it probably won’t get cataclysmically worse, at least this year) is just too big. I have to circle around it.
But that’s where I am this morning!