I think today was the first official day of HOT. Not quite summer yet because it's still April and April could never be summer. But it was summer-like. It smelled hot today. Like concrete that has been sitting in the sun, and bushes that aren't budding anymore. I love summer. I never really used to like it because it meant I had to wear shorts and swimsuits (which is not good for self esteem unless you weigh less than 100 lbs and are as tan as a graham cracker. Two things I am not.) But I'm trying to get past the thought of baring my legs to the world and just enjoy the warm weather again. The sun is my friend. So I decide to place myself in direct contact with summer like activity. I sat outside all day yesterday drawing, doing homework, talking to people, watching girls get their hair cut out in the sun, listening to music. Yes, it was good. But it wasn't ME.
Here's the thing. I love summer. I really do. But I don't like the summer things that other people like. I don't want to sit outside all day and watch people get their hair cut. I don't want to tan.
I want to go into my backyard right after the sun has set and everything is still radiating heat from inside itself and pick warm tomatoes. I want to sit on my porch in a rocking chair, or swing in the hammock with my man until he falls asleep. I want to make gallons and gallons of iced tea with mint and lemon. I want to make spaghetti sauce in a big pot. To live with the windows open all the time so that it feels like the inside of the house is friends with the outside.
But I'm so stuck. Because I live in a concrete box type room with one window that doesn't make friends with anybody. And Lipscomb doesn't grow tomatoes. I have no way to make iced tea, and no porch to hang a hammock. And it feels hot outside, but it isn't summer by any means. No matter how often you put on sunscreen, or eat popcicles. Because that is the way it is.
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