Been a while since I've written here. I wanted to write the other night, Saturday night it was, but more than that I wanted to get up get dressed get out get driving.

Restless, I was. Couldn't sleep. Got up with fingers itching to write and a foot itching to mash that goddamn 27-year-old pedal to the metal and hear that engine roar.

Would've probably gotten another ticket. Heh. Premiums are going up. Can't afford that.

Didn't write that night, either. Just lay in bed with the lights off and the CD player on until I fell asleep, sometime in the gray haze between late, late night and early, early morning.

Say, around 4am?

It's a hot day, too hot for comfort, not hot enough. It's raining in the desert, I think; I can see the thunderheads piled high and angry in the east. God, I think I'd like to see that again. I wanna feel the sudden incongruous suffocating moisture in the air and the electricity crackling unheard and unseen (but so felt) all around until lightning sudden wracks the sky and it just


I wanna drive through that, top down, seatbelt off, me and my girl, me and the clouds.

It's sunny outside, though. Hot, but not that hot. Not the moist sort of electric-hot the desert gets to be right before a big, big storm. And not the muggy sort of monsoon-hot the east coast is cursed (blessed?) with, either.

You know, weather like that makes the plants so beautiful. The humidity, it makes the trees so vividly, richly green, dark green, lush green. It's not a green we ever see here in the west; where it's wet enough here, we only have redwoods and sequoias and pines, evergreens, because of our almost-nonexistent coastal plain, and our rocky terrain.

In all honesty, I can't stand the heat much anymore. San Diego living has spoiled me. I can take the cold a bit better now, but heat...

Still, there's a certain seductiveness about heat, isn't there? Something about the way it envelopes you for the first ten, fifteen minutes - comforting - before it makes you sweat.

And oh, God, does it make you sweat.

I wanna live in Mexico. Deep in Mexico, in a little village with a Church, someplace forgotten by time. Or, no, not in the village...close by, out in the scrubland that borders on desert, long straight roads, cattle and half-wild horses and los vaqueros under a sky overcast in that gray racing humid way only lands west of the Gulf and east of the Pacific can boast.

You know, California was named after a legendary Queen?