By now the socially defined summer is most definitely over, and it would be back to the grind, but it’s not. The Beach Boys spoke of Endless Summer, and alas we’re not quite there yet, but it is at least extended.

The first time I did a cat rescue I was about ten. It occurs to me that she too was a she-calico.

It occurs to me that this latest one called Kali too probably has a undiagnosed anxiety disorder, and that our relationship is a kind of mutual treatment.

Right now she’s eating. Right now I’m having coffee and watching these lines of thought converge.

Which is what I’d really prefer to do for a living.

There is no such job, not the kind with a dental plan. But maybe the extended summer is an opportunity to explore how to live without a dental plan, and to live doing what I’d prefer.

Which isn’t unboxing and assembling a shed, either, but I will do that anyway. The same for beating my addiction. The same for procuring a bathtub of my own someday but not before securing a regular payday. These are the major investment projects of this unreal indiansummer space.

Meanwhile there are older revolutions to study. I dipped into the Russian one, tore through the entirety of Cromwell’s England, and am now crossing the Delaware with George Washington. This has left me overextended on bandwidth, but on Friday the gigabyte cavalry is scheduled to come riding over the hill from trailer park Mountain Trenton.