Worm Hole

Yesterday morning, I woke up at 6:30. Am. It's by no means a record for me, but after the second early morning rousing to drive down to scenic Handford, CA . . . the body wasn't diggin' it. Despite the severe and legitimate protests by my circadian rhythms, I slouched down the hallway and mindlessly spooned a bowl of oatmeal into my mouth. I evidently got dressed somewhere in the intervening minutes, hastily collected an assortment of portfolios, gym shorts and computer bags and kissed my wife goodbye. Bemoaning the fact that I had woken up at 6h30 and was still running late, I wrenched open the front door and stepped unexpectedly into Houston, TX.

In the mid-80's and humid as a Gorilla's armpit at 7 in the morning, the electrical storms and intermittent pelting of precipitation reminded me fondly of my time at University in College Station, TX. I am one of the few who inexplicably love humidity. Partly because my hair can't get any worse, partly because I've vowed to align myself with the Powers of Heat over the Powers of Cold, yesterday was a free sauna and I loved every minute of it.