2023-07-09 - 5:28 p.m.

a little bit sunshine.

7 june
we are blanketed in smoke from the wildfires in canada. the sun is a hostile little red knot in the sky, and the half-mile walk home from school leaves my children raspy-voiced and red-eyed above their masks. so much for this so-called climate sanctuary.

23 june
my spouse will receive no raise this year. inflation devoured nearly a decade of gains, and our home's grossly bloated value does nothing but increase our taxes. crumbling particle board at the back of the kitchen cabinets, carpet stained by the previous homeowner's pets, low quality porcelain tile reaching the end of its lifespan - all this worn-out shit needs to last a little longer. i persist in returning the furniture to wherever our blind cat, in life, expected it to be.

05 july
we are vacationing in maine and it is wonderful. i bring the children to swim in the lake before breakfast, take them on lazy day hikes, let them fill their little packs with quartz chips and blueberries and golden chanterelles. we visit a dear friend to help her move her bookcases. i wake them up in the middle of the night to see the candlesnuff fungus - is it glowing faintly, or are our eyes merely adjusting to the dark? - and watch the barred owls call back and forth along the shoreline, why can't life always be like this.

08 july
vacation is over now. i throw an unbecoming tantrum that persuades my spouse to drive out of our way and visit my cousin from kansas as his family vacations on the east coast. afterward, he admits it was a good choice. good food, good company i try stand-up paddleboarding for the first time and enjoy it very much.

09 july
vacation is really over now. it is nice to see our cat. but the house i tidied and cleaned so thoroughly before we left is somehow again so littered and cluttered it crushes the air out of my lungs. i don't want this. i must change this. how do i change this.

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