Sunday, July 31, 2011
Fiddlesticks You, July July!
Suck it July!
It's bleeding hot and all I can think about is Christmas.
I blame you, July. You bring the pinnacle of summer too soon and it's all downhill from there. And you know it.
You make me sick and listless with your temperatures, leaving me vulnerable for anxiety attacks over how I'm going to manage Christmas. I know you get the bitter irony in this, July.
And I know you're laughing at me.
Your mosquitoes are nothing short of torture.
I haven't been outside since June, July, and you know what?
You make me dream. Of other places. Places where it's not in the nineties for seven weeks straight. You and February make an extremely strong case for coastal lives.
See, now I'm worried about winter again.
And I blame you, July.
I blame you for the fact that it's noon and I've not showered or dressed.
I blame you for all those nights when I put my kids to bed at ten pm, cleaned until eleven, showered sometime just before one.
For making me go bad on the promise I made in May to never complain about the heat again.
For the heat sickness I got at the pool and for every penny spent on Frappucinos. (You know I can't survive you without them, you bastard.)
But you're done! You're finished! You're through!
So you know what?
Suck it, July!