There is something about short work-weeks that make it seem even longer to get to the weekend.
I’ve just arrived home with the promise of a weekend not fully booked. Of course, the time gets eaten up by something, whether it be have-to-do’s or should-do’s or a few fun things that steal the time.
I’m still on a Harry Potter kick and I had hoped that the books I ordered earlier this week would have arrived by now. There are plenty of other things I could read, including the book Bub really wants me to, but for some reason I can’t get into it just yet. I fear I’ll forget what I need to know about Harry in order to continue onto the next part of the story. Silly, I know.
I’ve been telling people today to brave the heat and stay cool. Although summer is only here until later this month (sadly), after Labor Day I take a double-take at the clothes and shoes people don because, well, it’s not summer officially in my book unless it’s the months of June, July, and August.
I’ll miss the heat, the sigh of relief that I breathe upon leaving the office as I thaw from the generic, stale air-conditioning which leaves a film of morgue proportions on my skin and changes my fingers to a pale purple (it is true).
But with fall comes mystery. As we prepare to step out into chillier nights and darker skies after long days in front of the screen’s glow, I recall the fall and all its promise when at college. Pledging for the sorority, blindfolds, drinking from cheap wine bottles while screaming the fight song.
The same crisp air stays with me well into the autumn and early winter seasons. But when winter comes hard, the mystery is gone. All that’s left is shivering, bone-chilling, discomfort.
And sometimes snow.