Tuesdays...
6/17/03 12:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alasanon...don't know why they're called 'Tuesday'. Why are they not called 'Hopday' or 'Absolute Zero' or some other word that might more accurately depict the nonentity of this day, they wonder quietly late at night, well past bedtime.
I will never have an answer that they can live with, of course, because I don't run the universe. I wouldn't want to, either. Far too many complications for a little creature like myself to even begin to ponder.
Moving on.
It's summer. There is some part of me that relishes the advent of hot weather; that tough, olive-skinned, Mediterranean part of me that loves grape leaves and buttery filo/phyllo dough pastries. That part that delights in the sun and blue skies and heat, heat, heat of summer outdoors and slowly becoming a brown-skinned wild thing. That part of me that has been sleeping for some time, allowing me several years of quiet and unremarkable summers nearly devoid of running and the sound of the wind in my ears and the feeling of leaves in my hair. I don't know why I've remembered this year, but I have, and I'm happy about it.
I have a large number of pale-skinned friends of solidly Northern stock who aren't too keen on summer and sweat, scowl, burn, or grumble as the heat sinks into their skin. I also have a friend or few who look forward to the sun's return and proudly pull their tanktops out of storage on the first day on which the temperature breaks past sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. I have been quieter about my feelings about summer, mostly, partially due to a certain forgetfulness that has gone along with my growing up.
It's a little strange, actually. For the last several years I've felt a bit as though I were living in a dream, or had been otherwise asleep since 1997. But lately it's been different--everything's been brighter and harsher and wilder. Somehow something found a way past the thorns I keep all around me and whispered, "Wake up."
Good morning.
I will never have an answer that they can live with, of course, because I don't run the universe. I wouldn't want to, either. Far too many complications for a little creature like myself to even begin to ponder.
Moving on.
It's summer. There is some part of me that relishes the advent of hot weather; that tough, olive-skinned, Mediterranean part of me that loves grape leaves and buttery filo/phyllo dough pastries. That part that delights in the sun and blue skies and heat, heat, heat of summer outdoors and slowly becoming a brown-skinned wild thing. That part of me that has been sleeping for some time, allowing me several years of quiet and unremarkable summers nearly devoid of running and the sound of the wind in my ears and the feeling of leaves in my hair. I don't know why I've remembered this year, but I have, and I'm happy about it.
I have a large number of pale-skinned friends of solidly Northern stock who aren't too keen on summer and sweat, scowl, burn, or grumble as the heat sinks into their skin. I also have a friend or few who look forward to the sun's return and proudly pull their tanktops out of storage on the first day on which the temperature breaks past sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. I have been quieter about my feelings about summer, mostly, partially due to a certain forgetfulness that has gone along with my growing up.
It's a little strange, actually. For the last several years I've felt a bit as though I were living in a dream, or had been otherwise asleep since 1997. But lately it's been different--everything's been brighter and harsher and wilder. Somehow something found a way past the thorns I keep all around me and whispered, "Wake up."
Good morning.
