a certain electricity

All right! Yeah! Two weeks left until the end of classes! Three weeks until finals! Let's fucking do this, internet!

The plants out back are green and getting taller each day, and the windows are wide open. Last weekend, in the afternoon, we drove to the county line and the squat little liquor store that sits three feet from it. We bought rye and a case of beer, and as we drove the seven miles home, the sky cracked open. The rain came down fast and hard and soaked the cattle in the fields. The occasional dogwood flashed white in the woods. It was a good night, is what I am saying.

I've been having conversations about happiness and what I believe it to be. We've been holding these discussions around our mismatched kitchen table, the only piece of furniture that survived the B's house fire. We have been holding them on the patio of the microbrewery that just opened by campus, the one that overlooks the lake. We've held them standing in the driveway, arms crossed, chatting with the neighbors. We've been holding them over a glass of rye and two small slips of ice. They are good talks. They are important.

There's that calm before the storm, when there is a certain electricity but no precipitation yet. The knees of old men ache. The sky turns the slightest shade of green. In that moment, a lot of things seem possible. This is how I felt last Friday. This is how I've been feeling. I have a summer to-do list that includes things like coney book proposal and third manuscript and rennet. I don't want to be my normal, self-deprecating self and mention how utterly unrealistic the list may be. I just want to write it down on the white board and see what I do about it.