I am tired of editing a Foucault paper and want to talk about something else...

I love ironing. I admit that there are few activities in my life that I find more soothing and constructive than the process of ironing out the creases of my shirts for work and then adding some spray starch. I love the smell of steam and that anti-septic smell of my lemon starch. It reminds me of when my mom used to starch her uniforms when I was much younger. The idea has a very strong (and relaxing) familial element to it that I enjoy. This is what I do: I iron. I iron therefore I am.
I love the smell of coming thunderstorms. There are those few moments before the rain comes when the wind blows away all of the local smells and I imagine that the scents on the wind are from some far flung locale. I believe I can smell western hemlock, burning mesquite and the delight of wildflowers from somewhere in middle of Oklahoma. It may not actually be the case but I simply don't care. I enjoy welcoming the idea to my home.
That will do for the moment.