it is. it is the season in which i sweat myself, in all the ways. August, you bastard.
the grass is dead. it hurts to go barefoot. god bless you if you have to touch asphalt.
Spent the weekend driving a kid to maine, and returning home through boston, which is full of overly-seasoned aggressive travellers and/or angry wealthy suburbanites who are pissed they don’t have a lakehouse. or maybe they are pissed because they ‘only’ have a lakehouse and not oceanfront. I don’t know what it is, man, but they are some mad dude-like and women-like people.
so i sweat myself.
i’m too stubborn. i’m too much to handle. i’ve got too much to say, and i rattle on. i’m too curious. i refuse, a lot of things.
i’m too hot. so i sweat the kids too. I snap and crackle at them. i’m cranky because no one works like i do in this house, (BUT OF COURSE NOT! I’m a freaking adult, I own the place. Sigh.) the damn kids keep running off before they do their chores, to grow and live life and sin. and they are moving faster than i am, because i’m just lying on the sofa, you see.
i’m not sinning enough, thats part of the problem, for sure. but i’m having a hard time finding the time. between the work and the family? c’mon. when it is this hot, and everything is dying? i’m not chasing ass, or alcohol, or anything at all.
i’m just sitting here, dreading the coming work day. dread most foul.
August, you bastard. Why can’t I quit you?
i need someone to just step in. is it a weakness in me? Is it just a need for AC?