I've been so bad about writing in you, little blog. July feels like a migraine coming on, and my heart is a little listless. I go around my town, I look at magnolias, the shops, the street, at the twin fawns in the graveyard that are so used to me by now, I can walk right up to them. But I'm so out of it. Everything about the season feels a little bit like a song I played too many times and now I've ruined it for myself. I know I get gloomy when I have a running injury, which I seem to have right now but am still running on. The weather is getting hot, which makes me tired. And the world is so terrible. It's just bad on bad on bad, and eventually there feels like an apathy that comes on, like maybe this is just how it is always and nothing will ever get better. Oh, I'm depressing, aren't I?

I want to go camping at Elkhorn and feel plaintive and sorry for myself that I can't. I'm feeling the lack of being in a truly detached wilderness area, no cell service or strangers around, cold, cold stream water.