So far I've dislocated my jaw eating mango leather and sped on my bike back and forth from one side of the Isthmus to the other: Monona-Mendota-Monona-Mendota. High June is here, and it is simply exquisite.

Skeeter is less than thrilled, resentful of the wiry black kitten that roams the apartment freely, unused to the spongy air mattress. He grumbles and growls, but then the window beckons and he stretches out on the sill, unable to resist the cool air.

You spy on outdoor happenings with such longing, as though you were once a wild thing, a panther slinking through brambles in pursuit of a capybara, and we caught you in a trap and clipped your claws and made you soft and thick around the middle...

Not to be mean, but you have no survival skills.

May 16, 2011.

My last day being twenty-three. It's been an eventful year.

Soaking up the new late-afternoon sun.

I've been sick all weekend with the office cold. On the plus side, I've caught up with several hours of reading homework I set myself.

Sleepy Sunday.

Happy. It's nearly fifty degrees and sunny!

I turned my sweet cat into a milk monster. Oops.

Skeeter.

He looks like a less good-spirited ogre.

Under this noiseless drift / The path of trains softly blocked

We're getting married a week from today, so my head/life kind of feel like this!

Sunday.

Skeeter study.

Aftermath of Bernd's 25th birthday party - one tired cat lying on top of beer-soaked Apples to Apples cards.

Halloween.