The weather this week is perfect: sunny, blue, warmishly cool dry high-pressure days. This is what people wait all summer in anticipation for; really, our prettiest weather happens in spotty week-long stretches between late October and early April. The other six months are summer.*
I wish this perfect weather did not cause my facial skin to chap and slough off in sheets, but that is a minor quibble when everything around me looks so good and everyone everywhere is in such a good mood.
Not much to remark upon besides the weather. I continue to love cheese. I still have trouble waking up on time in the morning. Camping was so much fun we're batting it around as a honeymoon option. I didn't know how well you could see by starlight alone. The fact that you can see that well is amazing; the fact that I didn't know that until now seems sad.
*Me, I don't really mind a hot, humid day, or even a whole bunch of them in a
row, for months and months on end, but I don't really talk about that too
much since expressing a preference for that sort of thing seems awfully close to gloating. Hot, humid days are more than plentiful, and so many other people
act like they'd rather have their genitals smeared with honey and
dangled over an anthill than endure them that they really don't care to hear my opinion on the matter, and I guess I don't blame them. (But, really, why do you all continue
to live in Texas? This is truly a mystery to me.)