{still more time}

the heat seems to be having its last hurrah--ten degree forecasted difference between today and tomorrow. other places signal fall with smells, roasting peppers, wood fires, baking--smells the memory of which plague me. here, heat and its abatement is what one remembers.

i escape my waiting-game with reality, fleeing into various books, history, sc-fi, literature, poli-sci, fantasy. (i avoid Program books--they fill me panic, edging to near to reality, or one that might have been.) looking back, i prefer the longest of available books. maybe their spines taunt me across the room, maybe i like the heaviness of them on my chest when i recline to read, or that it's easy to leave them flat on the table in from of me when seated--i don't really know. judging from 1) how often they make me feel elated vs frustrated, and 2) how often i've reached for a big book, i must conclude that i prefer frustration to elation.