Water Seepage.

It's gone hot and muggy. It's gone August, is what it's gone. We're still good and wet from the storm, inside and out, and this afternoon's nearby rain didn't help our air dry out, or even cool off any. These past couple days are the first time I can remember since the day of our wedding that I didn't want it to rain. I'd like to figure out the water in the shed—or start to figure it out—before we see what they were getting just south and west of here today, which was nearly stationary thunderstorms putting down one to two inches per hour. It'll rain again. I know this. It'll rain hard again. It'll rain hard and we'll probably stay dry out back. I doubt we'll see anything like Wednesday morning again any time soon. Still. The not knowing for sure keeps rolling around in the back of my head.

Gustav keeps coming, keeps coming. I'm more than happy to hope for a mainly windless dying tropical storm to come and put a dent in our drought, even if it comes with insurance adjusters, et al. I have no idea what to hope for with Gustav. Hoping for it not to go one place just means hoping for it to go somewhere else.