  I like my Sundays. Its silent out here without the construction noise that ruins the peace and quiet the other six days of the week. I get so much more done. Cranked up Car Talk to be heard over the dish washer, noise that I find pleasure in. Then the vacuum outshined everything - just a whirr of sound pureed together. Noise is fine when Im doing something, when I have something to show for it when it shuts off.
But when I choose to sit still, Id like to pretend that the world is with me on it. My summer Sundays call out for lounge chairs and fiction. Kyle, Amys ex-boyfriend, is in town and called me while I was at graduation yesterday. I didnt answer, knowing the howl of the bagpipes would make a conversation impossible. Hes in town for a couple of days, so I gather from the message he left. It would be lovely to recreate our kayaking adventure in Barbados. But I dont think even setting foot in sand would be wise. Uneven ground, water, and the sand itself  all bad ideas.
A burrito together? Always a good idea. Bryrox can wait. His propensity for flaking isnt impressing me. If I didnt know better, Id say hes the same guy he was whilst doing all those naughty substances and illegal activities. Maybe theres a reason hes acting like a junky maybe I dont need to find out much more than what my suspicions caution me against. 
