Right now, J.C. and I are sitting on the front porch. She's reading the book I mentioned in the last post, and I've been reading from the latest issue of The Oxford American, which I picked up at the bookstore today. I've read and really liked the essays by Pia Z. Ehrhardt, Mary Miller, and Sarah A. Strickley, as well as the short story, "The Pentecostal Home for Flying Children," by Will Clarke.

J.C. and I have spent a lot of time this summer on the porch, looking at the world from that view in the photograph above. Soon enough, my summer's going to come to an end.

Last week, I was visiting family, and one of the first questions out of everybody's mouth was, "When does school start up again?"

And I answered them truthfully: "I'm not even sure what day school starts. It's sometime in September, but I haven't checked the date."

I keep thinking that if I remain ignorant of the day that school is supposed to start, it will somehow not ever arrive.

I want to know: Is that so wrong?

Surely it's not.

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