There’s something else there, though, some nameless void, some expanse of sadness. Every major heartache I’ve had has commenced just at the beginning of summer. The early morning sunlight, the heat it brings and the distinctive smell, these for me are the sensations inextricably linked with breakup, and so my soul tries to escape until fall brings back the cleansing rain.

Summer days are the longest by definition; but they have also always been the longest days of my soul. Every minute of the sun’s long march across the June sky saps strength from my soul. Every unblinking solar moment transforming more of my internal landscape into a barren desert wasteland.

Why wouldn’t I try to sleep when I feel it coming on again? The earth has returned in its inexorable motion to the point of despair. I quite literally hate this part of the universe.

Today’s renewed warmth reminded me of another possible outcome: a state of sleep describable only by resort to fairy tales: Rip Van Winkle, Snow White, et al.

If, for reason of staying up all night or because of simple, honest lethargy, I remain asleep past that golden hour of 9:00am, chances are that I will remain asleep the entire day. The baby inside me, in these cases, is loathe to wake up from the warm, comfortable, womb that my room has become.

I noticed this phenomena a few times this past winter, when I failed to set the space heater’s thermostat appropriately. Going to bed at midnight, I would wake up at 6:00pm, sweating. Despite my reputation (to some extent self-created, to some extent warranted) for sleepiness, this is not my normal mode of living. I can be quite sluggardly, yes, but some amounts of laze are unusual even to me.

George Orwell, Reflections on Gandhi:

Even after he had completely abjured violence he was honest enough to see that in war it is usually necessary to take sides. He did not – indeed, since his whole political life centred round a struggle for national independence, he could not – take the sterile and dishonest line of pretending that in every war both sides are exactly the same and it makes no difference who wins. Nor did he, like most Western pacifists, specialize in avoiding awkward questions. In relation to the late war, one question that every pacifist had a clear obligation to answer was: “What about the Jews? Are you prepared to see them exterminated? If not, how do you propose to save them without resorting to war?” I must say that I have never heard, from any Western pacifist, an honest answer to this question, though I have heard plenty of evasions, usually of the “you’re another” type.

This is an advertisement for insulation.

I live in the garage. A hundred years ago, around the year 1992, my dad had a room built in the garage to serve as his home office. Eventually this room was repurposed, first as a bedroom, then as storage, and now a bedroom again—for me. Like I said, I live in the garage.

One thing that was not included when this room was built was insulation, and it shows, or rather feels.

The time for the space heater has barely past, and already it seems time for the window fan. Here I am this past week relying on electrical comfort to resist the cold at night, and now, today, in the late afternoon, because of the room’s west facing window I am starting to sweat. It is like a sauna in here right now.

Soon summer will be here in full force; my productivity will skyrocket. Not because of some renewed personal initiative on my part, but because around 10:00am my room will become too hot to comfortably inhabit. It is time to gain employment somewhere cool and air-conditioned. It is time, perhaps—has it been two years already, since I lost that job?—to move out of the garage.

In his most strident remarks to date, Iraqi Information Minister Muhammed al-Sahhaf condemned what he claimed was the “intentional targeting of Iraqi children centers” on Friday.

According to al-Sahhaf, Coalition forces targeted and bombed a daycare center in downtown Baghdad at approximately 1:30pm Friday afternoon. Casualties from the bombing total 12 children, all under the age of eight, and one adult, presumably a daycare employee. An additional 34 children were wounded in the attack.

“These are the kind of sick dogs we are fighting against,” added al-Sahhaf. “The Iraqi people will be victorious against these vicious, child-killing thugs.”

Officials at U.S. Central Command in Doha, Qatar defended the attack, calling the daycare facility a “dual-use” target. “I can confirm the targeting of this facility,” said Army Brigadier General Vincent Brooks at a CENTCOM briefing late Friday evening. “This is, once again, an example of Saddam Hussein’s reprehensible attempts to use civilians as human shields for his military structures. While the loss of innocent children is of course a tragedy, we have concrete information that half of this center was being used as a training ground for Hussein’s cloned, genetically enhanced super-soldiers.”

Brooks also added that the daycare center’s employee to child ratio of 1 to 46 was one more sign of Hussein’s brutal regime. “I can assure you that when Iraq has been liberated no daycare center or school will have a teacher to pupil ratio greater than 1 to 25. Iraqi children deserve the kind of personalized education only found in small classrooms, not an impersonal one based on fear and destruction.”

One senior defense official likened the supposed cloned super soldiers, the target of Friday’s bombing, to Weapons of Mass Destruction. One genetically-enhanced fighter, the official said, could wipe out an entire battalion of normal soldiers—possibly even an entire division. “They’re like Iraqi Rambos” the official stated, on condition of anonymity. “We had to strike now, while they were children, before they were capable of wreaking havoc worldwide.”

It slides.

“Anything happen?” is the question, over and over. Every time one of us wakes up in the morning, every time we come back from school, every time we’re out of the war’s mediated range. “Anything happen?”

But nothing has happened the past few days. With the sandstorm white-out, and the tanks outrunning their supply lines. We’re in a pause again, like the one that preceded this war. Monday to Wednesday is our model. Anticipating, waiting, wondering. What will come next, and when will it appear on the television screen?

Good news: I now have 18.2 gigs of free space available on my hard drive.

Bad news: I’m sure you’ve guessed already. It’s just too obvious to state.

Better to remain silent and appear a fool than to speak and remove any doubt.

I talk too much, speak too many words, and end up saying things that embarrass even myself.

Follow the rush of loquaciousness, feel the thrill of having someone to communicate with. The flush of warmth on my face.

Stop thinking clearly and make myself an idiot.

Not even speaking your language will break down the barriers between us.