for the third time this summer. Luckily (if that’s the right word for it) I’m too tired to go outside much right now, not for any bad reason, simply a description of where I’m at right now. When I usually write a sentence like “I’m tired” on a blog like this it’s fraught with meaning. Echoes of depression, that sort of thing. This time I could really just use a nap. It’s a new set of feelings, in a way. Contentment. Things are going okay for me. Life inclining in a positive trajectory, towards feelings of fulfillment and self-actualization and that sort of thing. Perhaps the best sign that I haven’t had much to worry about is that I haven’t had much to write about. Not that lacunae on a blog like this are unusual. I’ve had one on my professional blog for at least a year now. “How do you write when you have nothing to worry about?” turns out to be a not untrivial question for me. The answer it seems is to write less. Move more. Talk more. Fuck more. It’s not a bad life. Except, of course, for the smoke drifting down from Canada.