Welcome to my stream of semi-consciousness.

The grass is crunching underfoot, totally tan and brown.

The tomatoes have needed to be in the garden for a week or more. It's just too hot and I'm entirely too wussified. 50 lashes with a wet spade.

Today I crawled home, cranked up the air and dripped onto the couch. Simon was even in an all-new place; wonder why he didn't run downstairs to the cool cement floor.

I talked to an interesting woman today. She's deaf and either mute or had lost her voice, and had an interpreter with her. I wondered if I should watch her interpreter or her. I tried to speak to her normally, and not treat her like a kid or some one with dementia. My friend Mary is a stud who works as an interpreter for school-kids and other folks, and every time I talk to her I think how cool it would be to learn sign language.

Sound is such a big part of my experience of this world, I don't have much perspective on what it might actually be like to lose it. I know most deaf folks can feel some vibrations and enjoy music in a way, but man. I would imagine they want to have people communicate with them without being condescending. I wish our church had an interpreter.

Hey- did you know that they put treadmills on the roof of the gym in the summer? It seems a bit redundant, no? What with the paths and roads and track and air-conditioned machines all right there. But I have a date with my hot man there tonight, so don't scoff too loudly.