I told you summer would make a difference. Except there has got to be better places to swim then mud puddles. And, I suppose, the difference could be made by a nice number of days off.
I sunburned my thighs very very nicely yesterday. And my shoulders turned a glorious red today. That's one part of summer I could live without.
Pah. It will rain tomorrow.
My sister is now graduated. Well, she partied it up anyway. And then went to school on Monday. But that's o.k. She'll make lots of money. Some of us have to be studious goal oriented types. Otherwise we might not be past horse and buggy yet. Although it's my type that got us out of corsets.
Although, when your motivation interfears with cool-sleep-on-the-roof-parties, you might be taking it a little far.
Cor is starting to move into my place. Or, to be more exact. Cor's stuff is starting to move into my house. It's very strange. I've had the run of the place for nearly a year. Although I suppose I get a couple months yet. There will be some advantages of living with someone again. I hope. There'd better be *G*. I did get a stock of body spray in my bathroom. I am happy! I am sarcastic. Although I suppose most people prefer the smell of that over dairy.
I'm thinking of getting Krystal Meyer's c.d. Although I've only heard one song. Anyone heard of her?
Speaking of which, I have a Jars of Clay c.d.! And I'm actually really liking it! And they actually came in a parcel. I love parcels. Especially wrapped in string!
Also speaking of which. Meg got her hands on an old Spice girls tape. It didn't bring back too many memories. We started an anti-spice girls club. Although I don't think we ever did much besides sit around and talk about how we were going to through darts at pictures of them. One song immediately reminded me of a dance some girl did at a local talent show. Meg and I had weird childhoods. We still remember the songs to dances we saw at ten.
Also weird, we knew the names of all the spice girls. Except one.
Scary Spice-The black girl with big curls and skanky clothes
Baby Spice-The blond ditz with short skirts
Sporty Spice-The girl who thought she was an athlete because she wore runners and tight little tops.
Ginger Spice-The bad hair colour job and clothes cut out of fabric samples.
I don't suppose any of you would know the name of the last one? The girl with a super straight bob and not wearing much?
I have the tape now. Although I should get rid of it. It's funny. And so ninties! They were huge in their time.
I can't believe Megan mooned me.

I want sunshine. I want sunshine and swimming. I want picnics and days off. I want friends, novels, butterflys and fresh air. I want the musty canvas smell of a faithful tent. I want laughter. I want shorts and barefeet. Hot pavement and shady trees. I want to pedal a bike and lie in the grass. I want this blasted rain to stop. I want summer.
Tell me. Where is the place that gets to evaporate all this water that keeps falling on us? I think it's hardly fair.

How many of you read?
*counts hands*
O.k. How many of you are reading a book. Innocently. Caught up in the plot, maybe. Possibly enjoying the professional building of characters. And you come to a passage?
*counts hands again*
O.k. Now how many times is that passage incredible? So good that it makes you stop and re-read it. Enjoy the string of words. So perfectly does it seem to say what it's trying to. So well does it convey some meaning. Some part of life. Some emotion. You only wish that every word spoken was so well done. So nearly right. Something that made you want to stop, and enjoy it one more time?
*counts*
And when you read it all you want to do is stop somebody and read it out loud to them? Hand them the open book so they can enjoy it from themselves. Write it out and pass it around. Make sure everyone has an equal chance to appreciate, savour, those words that hit something in you?

Man. I cat-walked this ancient old tractor. I didn't know that was possible. And it had a turner hooked up to the back. I guess you just crank up the throttle and drop the clutch fast. Probably a very special tractor. I suspect it's been around since the fifties. I've never cat-walked much before. I can't even do my bike half properly most the time.
The tractor is great. The muffler fell out. But I was able to fix it by jamming it back in well trying to protect my hand with my shirt. Which was mildly awkward. It's emergency brake was a stick attached to an unused lever with a piece of wire. You push down the brakes and then try jam the stick in there.
Speaking of unused levers. It seems everything at my farm has at least six of them. I don't know if this is typical. But it seems odd. Do the makers of farm machinery purposely throw in a few buttons, switches, sticks, for the heck of it?
"K Kris. This is the mixer. Umm. There's the key. We don't use this. here's how you move forward. No, we don't use that pedal. Just this here. Umm, K, this doesn't do anything. Oh, this is broken. This, oh, that does nothing. Here's the levers for the front and side. You pull on this vise grip to move the conveyer. That toggle has to be switched to get the box to turn. No not that toggle. The one above it. That toggle, what is it for? I don't think it does anything. Don't worry about this stick. Heh, and this is completely useless"
He moves, flicks, pushes everything to show what it does, or in most cases, does not do.
"Either of those is right. Just push 'em and see what works."
This tractor didn't even have half the hoses from said levers. But she still ran. She was a nice little tractor. And I like turning. You just drive around in circles over the rows. And the little machine on the back promptly picks up the hay and spits it out a few feet over. Very cool. Helps that it was evening and there was a nice breeze blowing.

Dang. I've handled enough emotionally charged stuff over the past 24 hours to last a week. Make that a month. I think I'll have a breakdown. *G*, just kidding. I wonder what it takes to make a person breakdown. More for some people then others, I guess. Maybe? Is it a choice, how much you can handle? It's not been anywhere near that bad. I just like junk in small doses.
Right at the peak Mom brings in a piece of paper. It reads;
The Ranch
When I grow up I want to work on
a ranch. Because I like horses.
I also like the other animals.
And it has a drawing. I suppose of a ranch. Which makes me think about me being little. And then me being big. And me working my current job. And me telling Mom, "You know what? I changed as I grew up." And her telling me, "You got that right." And about what I've become. Which is a long ways from whole. And what I might become. And how much everything moves on.
And then I return to more important issues at hand.
Ach. I like it. I know I do.