June in bloom

Temperature: a partly cloudy 20/68 degrees.

Eating: leftovers from yesterday's BBQ.

Drinking: on a Monday? No. 

Listening: to the sounds of summer. How I've missed you!

Watching: the garden come to life. How I've missed this!

Reading: or rereading Who Goes Nazi? by Dorothy Thompson.
 
Writing: I've got notes scribbled here and there and on whatever was at hand I need to go through to see what belongs where. Sounds messy? Not at all. There is a place for everything and everything will find its place. 

Thinking: sweet baby Jesus, this is not even beyond the realms of possibility. I'm sure they could think of something and simply fabricate the rest.

Feeling: Chekhovian, and I only have to think of my boys and everything I stand to lose to swing that way, the world being what it is, with things steadily sliding in the wrong direction, all things considered. Here we are, serving a joint life sentence on this common planet of ours, some surfing with a drink in one hand and zero fucks given in the other, others drowning in the rising tide or a mudslide, and I know Chekhov didn't coin the phrase it's not over till it's over, but even while grappling with eternal questions of the human condition and the sorrows and horrors that abound, his characters are loath to give up. Yes, it's a god-awful mess, but are we just gonna gawk at it or are we going to do what we can, like thinking, feeling, proactive people should. Lantern or candle or phone in hand, if that's all you have, which in darkness is plenty.