I spent the majority of my second week of summer working to finish up a project for the Brazen Dropouts, which entailed sitting at my desk, writing code for most of the week. But it is summer, and summer entails open windows, which brings a nice breeze, or the sound of cars driving over wet roads, or the thumping of obnoxious cars playing bad music louder than necessary (although I did hear a couple great songs blasting from the intersection below: selections from Aerosmith, Third Eye Blind, and classic Green Day being the most notable). Summer brings baseball, too, and I watched baseball, talked baseball, held a baseball, and in two days I'll once again be playing baseball. I rode my bike as much as I'd like, and my Farmer's Tan is looking quite nice.

I've been reading Great Expectations again, and I've been noting my favorite passages. Here's one of them.

I walked away at a good pace, thinking it was easier to go than I had supposed it would be, and reflecting that it would never have done to have an old shoe thrown after the coach, in sight of all the High-street. I whistled and made nothing of going. But the village was very peaceful and quiet, and the light mists were solemnly rising, as if to show me the world, and I had been so innocent and little there, and all beyond was so unknown and great, that in a moment with a strong heave and sob I broke into tears. It was by the finger-post at the end of the village, and I laid my hand upon it, and said 'Good-bye, O my dear, dear friend!'

Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are the rain upon the blinding dust of the earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before—more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle. If I had cried before, I should have had Joe with me then.