I dreamed I drove a road that disappeared into a puddle and then into a sea. The water lapped the lower edges of my hood before I put my car in reverse.

I dreamed I needed Pop Tarts, but a regional shortage made them impossible to find. I went shop to shop but found none. In the last store, I queued up to ask the cashier where the Pop Tarts went. The customer in front of me noted the cashier’s middle eastern complexion and called him a fake American. The cashier’s unflinching gaze told me he heard it all the time. After the customer walked out the front door, I regretted not calling him an asshole.

The remnants of Hurricane Debby pass through my area today and tomorrow. NOAA forecasts inches of rain. We got a taste of this two nights ago when two inches fell in forty-five minutes. My fitness center flooded badly. The maintenance crew shouted to one another over the whine of shop vacs while I tried to focus on my yoga poses. Conscious that I used to work there, I worried the crew judged me for doing yoga in a room full of women.

A tab remains open on my browser: “drought tolerant perennials.” Susan is trying to breathe new life into our garden. Before that storm the other night, this is the hottest and driest summer I can remember. Each evening, I leave work to find my car atop a melting macadam parking lot, sweltering. When I flip the ignition, the thermometer reads one-hundred-something, even though my desk computer just told me it’s only ninety-five. I drive home mourning another day without riding my bike.

I read four books this summer. I might finally be unstuck, but maybe reader’s block is like writer’s block, each blank slate is a new hurdle to clear. From January through April, I read half a book—Sonic Life by Thurston Moore. It’s a memoir by the founder of the noise-band Sonic Youth. I beat myself up daily those four months for not reading. Now I realize it’s just a boring book. “I did this, then she did that, then I did this” Five hundred pages of it. I gutted through his ex-wife’s memoir nine years ago. It was essentially the same, possibly worse. Review here –> https://jefftcann.com/2016/04/01/a-girl-and-a-band/ Thurston signed my book. He’s something of a hero to me, but his poorly written book knocks him down a notch. Maybe I can sell it on eBay and get it out of my sight.

I’m disgusted with racism, misogyny, and homophobia. It’s everywhere I look. I read positive articles about Taylor Swift, Chappell Roan, Caitlin Clark and Simone Biles, and then I ruin it by reading the comments below the article. America is filled with hate. Why do so many white men denigrate everyone who is different from them? Why do they feel qualified to trash these massively talented and successful women? These four women bring happiness to millions (billions?) of people. Why invent grievances and find fault?

DEI is the newest swear word in the dictionary. The only DEI candidates in the presidential election are Tim Walz and J.D. Vance. Two white, midwestern men chosen specifically for their identity. One a veteran and hunter, picked to calm the gun folk. The other barely old enough to serve as president, a misguided attempt to lower the average age on Trump’s ticket. Both selected to attract voters fearful of electing a Black woman as president.

I dreamed I rode my bike to work, but when I got there, I didn’t have a lock.

Photo by Dibakar Roy