hot Sunday
Hot night; took half a Sleep Aid. This morning: keyed notes from From Eden to Exile and A History of Technology, volume 1 (how Paleolithic man made stone axes--not strictly related to my work, but I'm always interested in the foundations and beginnings of anything; I feel I may need to know this early stuff to fully appreciate how later things arose).
Kimmie's nephew Chris was coming over to spend the day; I invited myself to Mom's place for breakfast. I had boiled eggs and toast with her and Jackie at the dining-table, and we sat talking as the day slowly made the room and the house hotter.
Now I'm home again. Bought gas for the Corolla at $1.066 per liter, the most I've ever paid. I'm all for high gas prices; the market is finally moving in the direction that governments should already have been going, in my view. But now we'll be caught reacting to an externally imposed situation, instead of preparing for a planned one. Much the way life happens generally.
The house was empty when I came in. A newly iced chocolate cake rests on the kitchen table, presumably a project that Kimmie and Chris are working on together. Maybe they've popped out to get some more ingredients or supplies. I came down here to my office where it's cool. The sliding window, open a crack, allows a steady stream of cool air to flow past my damp, hot skin. There is a Sunday quiet: very little sound of traffic. Just the faint whine of an airplane and the hum of the PC.
A sense of summer heat, summer lassitude. The feeling of vacancy, the world in siesta. I remember standing on the sundeck as a child, looking out through the bright sun at trees dusty and dark green, the empty gravel lane, the sight of no people anywhere. People are on vacation. Solitude, and a vague feeling of unease, of having a duty to enjoy oneself and not knowing how, or with whom. So standing on the sundeck, looking out.
Kimmie's nephew Chris was coming over to spend the day; I invited myself to Mom's place for breakfast. I had boiled eggs and toast with her and Jackie at the dining-table, and we sat talking as the day slowly made the room and the house hotter.
Now I'm home again. Bought gas for the Corolla at $1.066 per liter, the most I've ever paid. I'm all for high gas prices; the market is finally moving in the direction that governments should already have been going, in my view. But now we'll be caught reacting to an externally imposed situation, instead of preparing for a planned one. Much the way life happens generally.
The house was empty when I came in. A newly iced chocolate cake rests on the kitchen table, presumably a project that Kimmie and Chris are working on together. Maybe they've popped out to get some more ingredients or supplies. I came down here to my office where it's cool. The sliding window, open a crack, allows a steady stream of cool air to flow past my damp, hot skin. There is a Sunday quiet: very little sound of traffic. Just the faint whine of an airplane and the hum of the PC.
A sense of summer heat, summer lassitude. The feeling of vacancy, the world in siesta. I remember standing on the sundeck as a child, looking out through the bright sun at trees dusty and dark green, the empty gravel lane, the sight of no people anywhere. People are on vacation. Solitude, and a vague feeling of unease, of having a duty to enjoy oneself and not knowing how, or with whom. So standing on the sundeck, looking out.
posted by paulv at
3:45 PM
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