I find that writing about the book I am reading is getting old, but it seems that there is always something new. I will spare you the details.

I am wearing an old white tshirt and a pair of army green pants that are decidedly too big for me, but a pleasant accompany to the tshirt which is threadbare and which I'm sure will be an addition to the rag box after this wear. I just walked back from a glorious hour at the river. The water is so shallow, as it is august, that you can sit on the sandy bottom and not have the water even graze your chin.

Or, let me edit that, I can sit on the sandy bottom and not have the water graze my chin, it would probably rest at an easy forearm heigth for all of you out there whose inseams are longer than 26 inches.

It is calmness and serenity all together and making one thing clear to me, that this world revolves less are me and more and more around those things surrounding me, and yet all at the same time not forgetting me.

It is quite a selfish feeling, but one I am experiencing just the same.

One thing to note: My father moved back in last week. He moved back out today. Whether it is because I am a creature of the moment, or because I am brutally honest, I am feeling a little left behind once again. I hate that feeling. Feeling unnecessary is the worst feeling I can imagine I think.