My lightning bolts a glowin', I can't see where I am goin'

It's 9 42 pm on a dreadful, muggy Sunday evening in Sioux Center. The thermometer reads a little past 85 F and if you stick your head out the window, your glasses fog halfway up the lens. Yikes. We haven't spent a night with the air conditioner on - the neighbors do. My bedroom window opens right up to their machine roaring all night. Tonight, ours might be on too. I took a short nap out on the deck and when I came inside to use the bathroom, I saw that sweat had soaked through the pits of my shirt. My mind is caffeinated and spinning. The problem is that, today, I sporadically read about gardening and food, looked through some professional photography portfolios (online), began a bread, really wanted to watch a movie(s), and contemplated the building of a darkroom. I sat down with my notebook to try and outline a film and send off the notes to Piper for her consideration. I'm sure if I watched a film, I could get in that mind. Capote and caffeine should be more than enough stimulation. Black coffee is comforting. Yesterday we had pasta with tomatoes, leeks, chives and basil from the garden. Today we had pasta with a store-bought jar of sauce. One of them tasted like cafeteria. (Also today, BLTs with Golden Boy tomatoes, New Zealand spinach, leeks. Always add leeks.) It's important to have a workspace. I finally transplanted the pallet of hollyhocks that we got from garden weeeeeeeeeeks ago. They were still green, still reaching out but unable to grow any taller. Now they are. Sorry it took so long guys. That's the pretty cool thing about plants (and a dog, for that matter). For the most part, they don't hold grudges or run out of patience so long as they have what they need. They're hoping, with every day, to be put in the earth, always come running when you open the door. Also, it's completely marvelous that a thin plant about eighteen inches tall can develop a bulbous bell pepper the size of a snow globe ALL from the rain, the earth and the sun. And, at its zenith, it is snapped off and consumed by consumers. The plant can no longer nourish and develop its fruit - it just goes on developing more, without tears, until the seasons send it back down to the earth to nourish other plants. Some fucker, with some foreign change, has my DVD of Thank You For Smoking. Which is the angry way of saying I can't find it. In other news, the heathens at Hy-Vee were selling Broken Flowers for two dollars fifty. Philistines. Americans. I asked my mom if the Shims (Midwest chapter) could go to Italy once I graduate. You know, once our lives are over because we're all grown up and stuff. She laughed.
"What would we do in Italy?"
"You know, eat and stuff."

So, in short, today has been about food and a little about photography. After this film, maybe that will change. I think we're watching Capote, Punch Drunk Love or Art School Confidential.