I think the heat is making me delirious

Just as I am getting over the Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey break-up - deciding to side with sweet, hunky, wounded Nick although I think Jessica can do no wrong - and just as the Jennifer Anniston and Brad Pitt thing hurts less - despite the residual anger at seeing Brad and Angelina Jolie together flaunting their giant, gorgeous family all around the world - now Carmen Electra and Dave Navaro split.

Devastating. I watched their engagement and wedding on MTV's "Till Death Do Us Part" (c'mon, admit it, I know you did, too), and there was just something about them. They're both beautiful and exotic and sexy, and together it just seemed.... right. What a loss.

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I'll go ahead and join the collective groan across the country about the stifling heat. Here it's close to 100, with a heat index several degrees higher. Before you all nod your heads in agreement, testifying about how you're sweating the second you get out of the shower or the car is a sauna, take into account that chances are you are now or at some point during the day sitting in an air conditioned office. (Granted, I don't have to commute in shirt sleeves or a tie or pants or heels, and when I venture out it's in minimal clothing.) I wake up to the morning sun baking the living room, which then progresses to the back of the apartment, making the place a veritable sweat box. There is little relief, save for the three-plus showers I have been taking a day. So, I just thought I'd comment on it, too.

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In my unintentional quest to read every written word in this apartment (while looking for a job and trying to be a generally productive citizen, of course), I just read a really interesting article in the latest Wired magazine that gives me hope. It's about a new theory that says some creative geniuses have their breakthrough early in life, where others are more methodic, "plodding along, peaking late in their careers." I often read about people who have published a dozen books, won a Pulitzer and changed the world before their 30th birthday. It always makes me wonder what the hell I have been doing with myself and why I am not famous yet (sitting in this sweltering apartment, making my way through the Internet and writing to this blog might have a small thing to do with it).

But then, maybe I'm a late bloomer? Maybe I just need a few more years under my belt, and as the current geniuses are fading into the sunset, I'll be standing nobly atop the float, cruising through the crowd, waving at my admirers as they throw money and flowers and acclaim my way. Just a few more years...

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It's such a rare occurrence that I thought I'd document it here. Last night, I had a full, restful night of sleep. Unlike the last few nights, I didn't wake at 3 a.m. or 5:30 a.m. to workshop everything from the latest job interview to new schemes to make money. I didn't lay open-eyed in bed, my feet twitching from restlessness, longing to make it through the night. Instead, I slept through it. It was awesome.