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rejectomorph

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July 7th, 2011

Coma [Jul. 7th, 2011|08:02 pm]
rejectomorph
It very nearly came down to me turning on the air conditioner today. There's a humid haze making a white halo for the sun, and the air seems so thick that it feels as though the ground itself is sweating. The feral kittens are practically comatose, draped over the chaise lounge, which can't be a very comfortable place because it has plastic upholstery. I'll want nothing to do with the outdoors until it's no hotter out there as it is in here, which is currently eighty degrees. It must still be ninety outside.

All I had for dinner was a tuna sandwich (not a tuna fish sandwich, mind you, as, to my knowledge, there is no such thing a non-fish variety of tuna, at least in English, and the redundancy irritates me) because I didn't want to ignite so much as a single burner on the stove. Maybe I'll fry a potato later.

The front lawn is turning a bit green, but despite all the water I've poured on it over the last few days the back lawn remains a dismal, thatchy brown. I wonder if all the gopher tunnels in the front lawn are actually taking water to the lawn's roots? Maybe instead of trying to rid the front yard of gophers I ought to try to get a few of them to move into the back yard.

I've been in an eighties mood all afternoon.

There, there. The The, Hear, hear!

I like the Hopperesque quality of the early scene with the window.
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