Summer's been a write-off. Everyone I know wonders what the hell happened to this summer. Me, I thought it was just me and my job, but it turns out to be a Vancouver-region phenomena: The Disappearing Summer.
Whatever. I'm camping this weekend and I'm dressing WARM, man.
I'm really looking forward to fall though: A season that makes no promises. Things die, weather gets cold, wind returns, musty scents fill the air, and nature rears her ugly head. But it is what it is, and we know what to expect. Wherever it starts off, you KNOW it's going rapidly downhill, and you KNOW it's gonna get worst before it gets better. Gotta love the honesty.
Summer, though, can lie. Nice trees and flowers, a sun-filled sky, and yet, far below seasonal temperatures. Global warming? My ass.
But I'm all right with it. It's been the right season at the right time for me, with the right amount of let-downs in all the right places. It's helped screw my head on right, and none too soon.
This week is about making choices for me, and it's an interesting time to be a fly on the wall of my head. Pity I don't feel like discussing anything.
I've felt like that a lot this summer. I dislike writing right now. Writing is, by its very nature, an exercise in truth. If you can't be honest, why write? Really, it all comes down to that. Can you be honest with yourself? Can you ask the right questions? Can you get to the truth? If not, then put the fucking pen down. It's just that simple.
Me, I've just not bothered picking up the pen at all, and I cannot tell you how troubling that is to me, or how jarring a disruption it's been to my life. I'm gonna have a lot to say about this one day, methinks, but I'm not sure when One Day is.
Believe me, I'm working on it. Life's got some roadblocks I need to get around, first, but I at least have a sense of a destination in mind. Gimme a few days to figger it all out.