I know I make a lot of the monsoons in Tucson, which do indeed break up the monotony of existence and make life bearable for us all. But they have a downside, which is that they trigger a Second Spring in which a slew of ground cover plants pop up, briefly thrive, and then bolt, such that I have personally been sneezing without cessation for the past seven days. I am sneezing now. I sneeze in my sleep. I have caused you to sneeze, through the power of suggestion. Every time Paul goes outside he comes in with so many burrs in his coat that he seems to be wearing full-body armor.
As I pick off the burrs, I sneeze.
That said, it is at least getting cooler. I have dreamed up and procured most of a Halloween costume. I now desperately crave apple cider donuts. It’s still a hundred degrees today, but that doesn’t stand in the way of what my body desires: crisp air. Fiery leaves. Scary stories. Apple. Cider. Donuts.
(There is a u-pick apple and pumpkin farm an hour and half outside town, so rest assured I will at some point gratify this desire, even if it’s 95 degrees out as we pick apples and choose our future jack-o-lanterns.)
We’re also about to renovate our bathroom, an activity which should kick into high gear just as I’m at my most despairing about the heat, which bleeds well into fall, and should be oppressing us until at least Halloween. This is not unlike the time I decided that the month leading up to the 2020 election was the right moment in which to break in a new pair of Dr Martens: physical discomfort and mental anguish sometimes balance each other out, or at least the most perverse part of my mind seems to believe it’s so.
Ok, time to sneeze. Enjoy your day.
Also, a piece of news: I had a cartoon featured at The New Yorker and you can see it and enjoy it and share it and laugh bleakly at the human condition and go read some Nietzsche afterwards, you’re welcome. Voila: If Selfies Came with Automatic Transcripts of Our Thoughts