Perforation Problems

I'm writing this on my phone, because we're at the lake and my computer refuses to connect.  We drove up late tonight -- it was a long day of work and company picnics and commutes and packing, and I'm tired. But during the last 30 minutes of the drive, it occurred to me that my lips felt a little weird. I think they're a little swollen.  So now I'm paranoid that the antibiotics I'm taking are going to make my throat swell up and I'll suffocate in my sleep. Natural thought progression.  But let's put that aside for now.  Indiana is very flat. That used to bother me, back when I feared I'd left a chunk of myself in the mountains of Georgia. I still feel somehow relieved when we drive south and the land starts to roll, but the flat has grown on me. There's beauty, too, in the long, horizontal lines where sky meets land.  The road, the grass, the dirt, the corn, the sky, the clouds. On summer visits to Indiana, my cousin and I used to make friendship...

My mom got me a swing for my birthday. Technically, it's for Michael's birthday, too, but he didn't have much choice in the matter :/ Sorry, Michael. It's perfect for laying outside and reading.  I was out there for about 20 minutes today waiting for Michael to get home, but I had to come in because the mosquitos were getting me. Which makes this the third day in a row I've been bitten by mosquitos. I am not exaggerating when I say I think I've gotten close to 50 bites this week. They love me. If we had West Nile anywhere here, I'm pretty sure I'd have it. 

"I haven't told why I wrote the book, but I haven't told you why I sneeze, either. A book is a sneeze." -- E.B. White, from  http://www.lettersofnote.com/2013/08/a-book-is-sneeze.html

MWUAHAHA. UP TO DATE ON POSTING. For now. Check out this weed I pulled from our backyard flower bed. I included my gardening glove so you can see relative size. Mr. Weed was not alone. There were many. If plants were zombies, we would be dead. Also, there was a 3 foot tree growing in the middle of my tiger lilies. Tell me this, though: what's the point in weeding if no one ever sees it and says, "My, what a nice yard you have!" Who is going to say that? Clyde? He just pees on things. Maybe someday we'll actually have people over for a barbecue like we've said we would. That's just so much work, and there's so much laying around that can be done instead.

Grandma sent me home from the lake with a trash bag full of plants, with instructions to put them in a bucket of water until I was able to plant them. We have no buckets, so I now have a bunch of plants on our deck sitting in coolers.

This kid.