Another of Those Posts

LJ seems to be behaving less abominably than it has for the last couple of days. Unfortunately, Sluggo's behavior has grown more abominable. Five crashes in one night, even though it has been fairly cool. This has not improved my disposition, and I was already somewhat grumpy due to the soreness resulting from my most recent bout with spinal readjustment.

My mood was made somewhat brighter by the news of Dick Cheney's recent antics on the Senate floor. Depending on which reports are accurate, the Vice President has either approved of autoeroticism, or has not only approved of homosexual acts, but has offered to engage in one such with Senator Patrick Leahy. I don't expect him to come out in favor of same-sex marriage, though. He strikes me as the type who would confine his homosexual activites to casual encounters, and would expect all others to do the same. But who knows? If he is indeed coming out of the closet, he might eventually fall in love with some winsome, boyish junior Senator and, divorcing the Stepford Second Lady, flee to Cape Cod for a gay seaside wedding. Gosh, I hope I get invited! It's bound to be the social event of the decade!

No social events of any sort are in my near future. The closest I'm likely to get is if I have to make yet another appointment with the chiropractor. I'll know if it's needed by Monday. For now, I have to concentrate on getting through another dull but uncomfortable weekend. I think I'll start with sleeping as late as possible today.

Dusky

The long evenings are the best of summer days, when earth and sky gradually dim, the soil gives up its stored heat to a softened air to be carried away by those breezes which gently stir the flaccid leaves back to life. Torpor gives way to a languid arousal, and the world is like a cat stretching itself after a long nap. The colors of the roses, though muted by the fading light, seem more intense for a while, from contrast with their gentled surroundings. This is the time for lawn sprinklers, when the sun's evaporative rays have been concealed, and the drifting clouds of their mist now scent the evening, and their falling drops echo the vanished showers of spring. In a while, the colors of the roses will drain away, and the austere blossoms will be softly lit by the waxing crescent of summer's first moon. Until then, the long gloaming of midyear will be filled with the last bird songs and the first flutter of moth wings, and this luminous lavender sky.