in which my thoughts dance like river tam

I suppose this is what happens when I go out in the sun: my brain bakes and funny things pop out. Apparently I carry a fantastic batter in this skull of mine.

It occurs to me, for example, that this small town of mine has no support groups and indeed no real sense of community. Each church behaves as if the others don’t exist, and really I don’t care that the interfaith thing doesn’t happen here; mostly I care that the efforts of the churches aren’t, in this place. The focus on urban problems ignores entirely the problems of people on the edge of rural life. Just in the houses near mine I know there are people who need support; why is it impossible for them to get it out here?

And on a completely frivolous note, the kind of heat styling I can manage with my hair is the kind that involves letting the air dry it on an absurdly hot day. 87, whew! Can’t global warming back off already?

I took a few pictures. I liked one of them very much. The others are probably crap but one serves to remind me of a painting I once saw. If I could just take Eleven back there with his camera, perhaps we could shoot some actual art.

There’s a guy in this documentary who looks like Willie Garson a bit. Mainly I have it on for the sound and the occasional glance up to see what’s so fascinating. Also, Russian guys are affectionate. Evidently v. secure in their manhood, oh yes.

My attention is divided: conlang/email/sewing/breakfast? Writing, even, now I know another part of the story? Pish, I don’t know. Too nice today to care.

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