I think I may be the only person who gets depressed in summer. Something about the heat and living near lots of pavement gets me down. I miss my childhood home and it's fantastic yard and creek. It seemed like that was the only place I truly loved summer.
I shouldn't complain, since we've had like 1 day over 90 this year (and today's the day), and since many of you Texans and Northwestern folks have been muddling through heatwaves, this little heat-blip in PA is nothing to fry an egg on a car over.
Maybe I'm just lacking post material. It's been a tough few weeks, ever since I got back from BlogHer. I feel like the proverbial hamster spinning on a wheel, doing endless loads of laundry and washing dishes, only to find myself back in that spot right after I stopped. I hate thinking of my life as just getting by; though many days it's like keeping my head above water.
I've always been prone to existential angst--you know, all the meaning of life stuff, but it's now compounded with the realization that I'm getting older. Somehow a baby does that to you. They change so much in the first few years and really are a physical specimen for the passage of time.
So here I am, just tapping away on the keys, parked in front of the fan with a cat cozied up next to me as if it were January. I suppose that's why they're not called the cat days of summer.