Captain Toby and I have declared this the summer of not overthinking, which, given that overthinking comes to me even more naturally than breathing, means that it is probably actually going to be the summer of strenuous denial. But I've never yet been able to turn down something done in the name of adventure, and in either case the outcome should be fun.
I went on kind of a fun bender there for a couple of weeks, out every night and all available afternoons, sitting in parks eating ice cream and drinking tequila, having and going to bbq's, making up nicknames and always, always laughing. I came home at dawn for the first time in ages last weekend, having been snugged in a basement nest full of friends for hours watching a movie with a warm hand resting just above my knee. In my garden, everything is growing, even the experiments that I was sure would fail, and every day each one of those plants is different.
My instincts always lead toward smashing, toward lighting everything on fire, but just right now that seems like too much effort. My angry robot wants it, but my hands are too busy petting friendly dogs to do anything else. Seems like as good a time as any for the summer of not overthinking to start.
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