Every year, it seems there's an evening in late spring that flows through your heart like a cool breeze, and you know you're so close to summer that you could probably taste chlorine and sand if you really tried. It's the first night that all the doors are open to your backyard and you wear a t-shirt and shorts after sunset (or maybe a light dress if you're a female or a rather exciting and eccentric male) without even considering any other attire. You flick, slap or punch your first Junebug and think about the possibility of endless possibilities.
It's now August and I don't think that evening ever really came in May. I find this unsettling, as I contemplate summer from inside an office building. All I'm saying is, man, that evening better not stop coming now that I'm an adult with adult hobbies and adult things to do with adult stress about adult worries somewhere amid adult wondering.
No, I say! I say, listen gods, you give me that fucking evening every May so I don't have to think like this on a random day in August. Do you hear me? What, did you want me to only care about my lone cubicle decoration as freedom? Oh yeah? Fuck you! That's it. I will be taking something that you created and holding it ransom until I am reasonably pleased. You have less than a year to give me that special feeling in my heart and stomach on an evening in May.
LESS. THAN. ONE. YEAR.
-End Transmission-
Wow. This post turned out radically different than how it started.
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4 comments:
I think it used to be called Spring Break and god damn it's fucking scary to think such simple things might not exist anymore.
we have to hold onto our youth, yet there is this push/pull battle of having to grow up and do "grown up" shit.
but we adjust.
when we order dinner at fancy restaurants and see mac n' cheese as a side item, we oblige. don't even question it.
and somewhere in the bites of cheesy deliciousness a piece of our youth exists.
and although small, it can make all the difference.
Dude, at dinner on Saturday, I debated pretty heavily between mac & cheese and something Tex-Mex. I ended up with the burrito, but I was thinking of mac & cheese the whole time. Scandalous.
But fear dictated your life, and you tried to be practical.
But the problem is, dear Kilroy, as you would soon learn by the expression on our waitresses face, is that vegetable fajitas are NOT practical.
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