Summer's haze

A quick word as a follow up to That Unwanted Feeling post. While I'm not rolling around in bed sobbing or unloading my grief upon an unsuspecting grocery store clerk, I wouldn't judge someone who did (mostly). We process grief (and essentially everything else under the sun) differently and I wanted to clarify that just because I have disconnected that there's anything wrong with any other way. Because I'm paranoid.

Summer is a funny thing to me. In theory, it runs from June through August. Where I live, it runs from May through at least October. Most years to the middle of December, sometimes starting at the end of March. What is for sure is that summer, at least here, is upon us. It's easy to tell.

People move in packs from air conditioning to air conditioning, searching for that most coveted of parking space - a fully shaded one. There are always those people who are compelled to point out that they don't notice/mind/melt-from the heat. There are always those people whose hair isn't the slightest bit frizzy or out of place and whose clothes don't stick to them from sunup to sundown. We hates these people. Nasty, nasty people. We hates them.

Bottom picture stunningly accurate when I get a sunburn.

I have inherited from my mother something in the ballpark of a predisposition to sun poisoning/sickness. My Italian ancestors must be laughing their asses off. I also have excessively light-sensitive eyes. My husband jokes I'm a mole person. Or a vampire. Cool darkness? That's my sweet spot.

BUT! Summer, if you were a kid with a half-way decent home life, food to eat and a love of reading & swimming, was awesome. (*Unless we're talking about holidays, but we're not, so I'll carry on.) Pool parties ( I went to 2. 1 above ground, 1 at the rich girl's house who had an in-ground pool. I had more fun at the above ground one.) Swimming at the community pool. Devouring books. Riding my bike. Staying up as late as I wanted *cough* without regret. Summer was freedom. Memories & hindsight and all that... I'm sure plenty of it sucked, too. But then I think about family trips and sleepovers.

 So while adult me dreads grocery shopping with coolers so my milk doesn't boil and my cheese isn't golden brown before I get home, inner me starts wondering how many books I can finish in a week. How many words I can write. I set a bunch of wildly conceived goals every summer, like my own personal resolution playground.

Which is good. Because that implies hope. That implies not letting go of dreams and personal goals.

Life can be brutal. Life can be monotonous. Life can be heartbreaking. But life can be renewed, the spirit rekindled, faith restored. In other words, every motivational poster you've ever seen.

If I ever get a tattoo, something I've contemplated for, well, ever, I've decided to go with Jimmy Buffett lyrics. Year-round reminder of summer, fun & hope.