it's been about 95, every day, all day, kind of a hot spell, with humidity to match; but, on monday morning, we arrived to work to find that the offices were about the same. our building is large, and has enormous coolers and pumps, but one must have broken, and i wouldn't like to be in charge of a monster like that, so heavily relied upon this time of year.

i'm emotionally delicate at the moment anyway, so i took the opportunity to come home, the first opportunity i had, and also make sure that more swimming takes place over the lunch hour. this turns out to be not so easy, but i know it's good, and it's made my own head clear and body rested tonight finally, so i can possibly get some sleep before the concert tomorrow, and the event in which my son gets out from inside his cast; he's had a broken arm.

last night my older son turned on a light, at about four a-m, but this triggered a neighbor's search light which came immediately on and bathed my upstairs; this was the last straw. i was sleeping very lightly anyway. one could feel the sultry warm muggy night seep in the cracks from all sides; without going back to bed, i sat and listened to the first morning birds, which start quite early, on the longest day of the year. perhaps they'd never even stopped; there was an unusual moon in the evening, and the whole place seemed to be bathed in an eerie dissonance. our crises will end, somehow, my wife and i, miles apart, each with family; the days will get shorter, thankfully, and by november it will be quite nice out. not before then though; we have a ways to go. the turtles don't bother coming out. the birds, so noisy at night, take a whole long day, and do nothing but hide, as far as i can tell.

the younger fellows are their usual ornery selves; it's comforting. i yell at them a little, but all that's more or less expected. they need a lot of control; so much, is out of theirs. they want to control the dinner choice. they want to control bedtime. they wish they could control when their mom came back.

i control only the car windows: way shut when i drive, aircon blasting; way open when i park, i dare you to take any of the compost, steadily pushing itself toward the floorboard; detritus from too many trips to walmart, maybe. the days are too long; the steering wheel, close to melting; too much of the traffic in the mirror acts like this is normal. it is, i'm sure. if there's rest, any real rest, i can only imagine it.