The sky is a luminous blue tonight. The colour is bouncing off the walls. The air smells cool and musty, like the evening is sweating after a hot day. We went for a walk at 9 p.m., up the hill on Farm Road to where you can see the cathedral and the university across the river valley and you can hear the occasional hooting of the trains below. There were no shadows, since the sun had gone down, but there was a type of haziness in the air that made the cathedral stone, in the distance, over rooftops and trees, look grey-blue in the evening light. All the cats were prowling around front gardens at sun-down, so the walk took twice as long (I’m a little obsessed…) The houses on the hillsides are built haphazardly to cope with the slopes, like spilled orange-red building blocks. People were clearing up dinner plates with windows open or moving barbeques back into sheds. The air smelled of honeysuckle.

I have the window open in the study, letting all the mosquitoes in along with the evening smell and the cool air. Lori is taking a shower before our movie night, which we rescheduled due to a delicious and copious Mexican meal last night (enchiladas and quesadillas and refried beans and rice left little room for dips and chips). We’re going to move our mattresses in the living room and crash on the floor with food all around us, which means we will undoubtedly be complaining about the light at 4:30 a.m. There was a storm last night – real thunder, which is strange and eerie in England. It rumbles more than it does in Mississippi, where thunder is less of a rumble than a repeated cracking, like a giant whip on the clouds. Last night I woke up just as the light was coming up, wondering why I had dreamt of thunder. Then I heard it, and the rain started. I lay awake smiling for a while, missing America.

Missing America has been the theme of today, by the way. I started another internet job search, which always ends disappointingly. That’s enough about that.

I have been thinking about doing something drastic this week. I have been so angry with myself for not getting up early and keeping my sleeping patterns in hand, so I’ve been contemplating a (quite literal) wake-up call: up at 7 a.m. for a run, shower, and work. Bed by 11. It’s doubtful that it will work, but I might just try. To be honest, getting up at 8 would be an improvement right now. I was so angry with myself for staying in bed until 9:45 yesterday morning that I am almost ready to try anything, and a run always puts me in an optimistic and idealistic mood.

Time to prepare dips!