the smell of rain

It's almost sickening, the days spent half in air-conditioned refridg-eration, only to open the door at break-time to the oven-like parking lot where the +32 degree sun gleams off of every car and shiny surface. Home to a house that is missing functional windows in the front half, and a fear of leaving the ones that do open while I'm gone. Sweat, and then sweat some more at the gym, despite fans and more air-conditioning. Is this the hottest July on record? It surely must be. I've discovered raspberries in my back yard, beside the rhubarb gone to seed despite my best intentions to use it this year before that happened. How they've grown without water is beyond me. It seems a constant struggle to keep the counters free of clutter, and I'm worried about presenting my life, organizing my cupboards in a drunken red wine state on saturday night. Why aren't I losing more weight? Is this what they call a plateau? Is it alright to just want things to work out fantastically? It's ok, I'll bathe and I'll hew and I'll get lost in the hugeness of the sound that is this.