Gotta find me a janitor to sweep me off my feet

Wildflower on another piece of land I will almost certainly not buy

The planet is turning away from the sun, slowly, even though it was still 100 degrees out this week. The humidity has lessened. I don’t feel a desperate need to carry my window fan from room to room. At night, I actually have to turn my fan off, which means it’s too cold.

I went to the park last Thursday, to get a dose of sunlight before Labor Day. My least favorite holiday. Labor day means summer is over. No more wearing white. No more Vitamin D. No more beaded sweat on my upper lip. If I don’t have my sun, thing start to fall apart.

This Chattanooga summer has been the hottest on record, and for me it’s not hot enough. Or it’s exactly hot enough—I just don’t want it to get any cooler, ever. I’m beginning to believe a move to Mexico might be advisable. Mexico, or Thailand.

The park was deserted. I had expected hordes. It was a beautiful, sunny day, only two days before the holiday weekend. I forget about things like school. Yet another example of treating myself as well as I would a child. What would I want to do instead of school, if I was in school all day? I’d want to be there, in the sun, gazing out at the river, hearing the calls of boaters across the water.

Only a month more of warmth, and I haven’t budgeted nearly enough time for basking in the sun this summer. I’ve spent the last several (non-blogging) weeks grabbing at any spare moment to drive around to more pieces of land. I am determined to buy a place before winter. Determined. That doesn’t mean, however, that a piece will reveal itself to me.

I continue to experience the challenge of deciding between mountain and valley. I don’t want to end up making the wrong decision. Soil can be enriched, yes, but every time I drive to look at another barren, rocky five acres, covered in bugs and scrub pines—I drive past acres and acres of fertile, verdant bottomland. I think, as I drive: this is what I want.