As of Memorial Day Weekend the shop no longer closes on Sundays until the end of summer. That gives me one less day to work on my own nebulous achievements -- or get a lot of household chores done. And with every passing day I have one less day, period.
When the sky looks like this all day it's hard to get moving on anything:
Thunderstorms moved in on a long, eerie rumble around 2 a.m. The first rolls swept over us in a gradual wave, like a giant UFO. The sound echoed between mountains and across the glacial lowlands, pulsating strangely. It did not sound like your normal rumble or crash until one cell of the storm advanced on us close enough to drop a few bolts nearby. They moved on. The noise and rain subsided.
We woke to this state of unresolved grayness that has persisted all day. Without the trees to give it context it looks like this:
It makes your brain feel the same way.
The National Weather Service has issued a severe thunderstorm warning for areas west of here. The radar shows a large mass of bright colors, but nothing bearing down directly on us yet.
I don't need excitement, but I prefer to produce more than urine, feces, carbon dioxide and a bunch of clean dishes and clothes we're just gong to get dirty again. Still, when the mental fires are just a pile of damp wood, what can you do?
Scoop the cat boxes.
