clean house

Yep, the house is all cleaned up. The tiny air conditioner in the window next to me is ready to work like crazy tonight, along side the swamp cooler in the back to keep our hip urban apartment nice and less than just a bit too warm for the dinner that we're having with some possible donors. So far, I have only gone outside once today, and that was in our eight by five light well to water the plants.

One of the pleasantries that this heat induced house arrest affords me is that I have been trying to catch up on all the NPR podcast concerts that Jeremy told me about. Right now I'm two-thirds the way through Nickel Creek. I love it. So much so that the dusting and organizing is actually fun.

The recurring question I keep entertaining upstairs is this: If I never left this house and only once in a while saw somebody, what would my life be about? What I'm trying to get to is who am I really. Take away the InterVarsity gig and it appears that I am a house cleaner / jammer of wood into tight places in attempt to seal off the window where the AC unit inevitably creates it's own self-defeatist energy crisis.

I check out the videos and pictures from my friends facebook pages and realize that not only am I not having as much fun as them, but I actually think that because I'm not capturing and posting my life for the world I must not be as interesting of a person, and my life must be going nowhere. Who am I listening to?

I'm so fickle.