I read a book today. Everything was going along just fine until the last 20 pages. It was as if the author painted himself into a corner, couldn't figure out what to do with the story, and ended it 50 pages early. I have a good mind never to read again. Starting...now.

I didn't eat any bugs or see any fawns today, so I guess I don't really have anything to report. It was raining this morning, so we splurged and went to the movies (actually, Dad splurged; we just mooched--Evan Almighty was good). It cleared up in the afternoon, and now, at 11:21 PM, it's so muggy that I want to go and jump in the pond. I'll let you know what happens.

This morning, I poured the remaining Cinnamon Toast Crunch into a bowl with some milk and sat down to have breakfast. As I ate my first few bites, I noticed some small black 'floaties' in amongst my cereal. Just junk from the bottom of the box, I thought; I looked closer; they were moving. As it turns out, they were ants, and I had been eating them. Perhaps more strangely, I found myself actually weighing whether to finish my breakfast or to throw it out. I'll leave you to guess what I decided.

Today's slogan: Ants, they do a body good. (runner up: an ant a day keeps the doctor away). In an unrelated matter, does anyone know where I can pick up an anteater (UCI is NOT an option)? Also, I finished today's round of golf with 5 pars and a birdie; dare I to hope...

Mom, Sarah, and I were walking around the block today (not what you think--it's a farming community--blocks are 3 miles) and had a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We were nearing the end of our trip and walking a somewhat solitary strech of dirt road. To our right, some horses were feeding under a tree in a bare barnyard; to our left was an open field, green with young corn (or weeds; to be honest, I don't remember). Some movement caught my eye, and I turned to see a creature galloping straight for us. Its legs flailed with each bound, and, at first, I thought it was a funny looking hound. But as it neared, I realized it was a terrified young fawn, sprinting (like a chubby kid with a fistfull of dollars after an icecream truck) straight for us. Snorting and bleeting like a goat, it stopped just short of us; its mother and sibling looked on from a treeline at the other side of the field. The white spots on its sides quivered with each breath, and indecision marred its delicate countenance. The horses stamped their feet in the background, and, for a moment, the fawn debated crossing the road and joining them in their pasture. We were caught entirely off guard: I didn't know whether to reach out and stroke its silky coat, or to watch it in awe, or to run from it. As the shaking ball of nerves stood inches away, we herded it back toward its mother and the safety of the trees. At first unsure, the fawn trotted hesitantly through the field, looking again at the horses. We turned toward home, afraid that our presence might scare the doe into leaving her young. As we parted, I felt sure that we would not be meeting again; our four lives had been fleetingly connected; but only for a moment; sometimes a moment is all you get. It was amazing, yet sad. I hope it found the doe.

I spent a lot of time just wandering around the yard today. I played with the cats, hit some golf balls, walked back to the pond and watched the fish, valiantly fought some hornets (I didn't die) and played some basketball. It sounds like I did a lot, but when you spread it over about 12 hours, there was a lot of down time. There's just something I like about being outside in the summer doing nothing in particular. I think that's why I so detest apartment living--there's no "outside" where I can wander around (at least, not without running into 1453 other people, their dogs, and their dogs' poop). Land. I want some.