I fucking hate the summer.
Perhaps I should shed light on the above statement. I am a pessimistic, nocturnal, pale, fat white chick with a nasty skin condition (I know, I know. Control yourself, boys.) I live about 12 feet from the sun. 15 Seconds out, I begin itching like a woman possessed. Then there is the humidity. As if I didn't already feel the weight of God's distaste, now I can feel Satan's subtle yet constant attempt to strangle the life right out of me.
" Some people think they can get away with murder. They say, "Well, it's summer, and Martha Stewart would say it's okay to just chill some pecans, grind them up, sprinkle them on melon balls, and serve that with water." But I'm a big steak-and-potatoes guy " - Conan
Amen. So now that I'm on vacation and my parents aren't, it's become 'fend for yourself you lazy bitch' season at my house. Honestly, I cooked a shoe for lunch last week. Then once a week my parents build a fire and char up a bunch of animal flesh. Should I celebrate? I can't. I'm too busy studying the species of sideshow freak they invited to the feast. Every Sunday I strangely come down with a bizarre headache. Isn't that odd?
Speaking of vacation, it should be said that I don't vacation well. I carried my resume to New York with me. So instead of basking in the joy of school completion or enjoying the best part of my youth, I'm sitting in my basement bedroom at 3AM because my brain says, "Hold up...You haven't done anything. You shouldn't be tired. Open those eyes, 'ya bum." After a couple of days of that, my bitch factor hits about 10+.
I can't even enjoy normal summer activities. Take swimming. "A bad bathing suit can humiliate you more than anything else in life." I am an inordinately large individual, and although I'm not ashamed of it, I don't relish it either. I consider it part of my commitment to public service (if only the judge did) to buy a bathing suit, take it home, and hide it in some dark corner, never to see daylight again. I don't even buy one anymore. I just go to Wal Mart, look around swimwear, and sigh deeply. All my friends are into 'living in the moment' I got a whole lot of moments, especially with the damned insomnia. "I basically have the same needs as a mushroom. I want it to be dark and kind of moist and I don't want to be jostled for months at a time." That's me. I'd invite you over, but then I'd have to get up and open a door. Nevermind.
All in all, it's hot, humid, long, and very taxing on my bitter persona. If summer had a consumer rating card, it would score a -1 overall. I live in Georgia, making summer 9.6 months of the year. Every year I dread it more, and every year finds me praying harder that I'll be rescued by Old Man Winter (the most rewarding relationship I've ever been in, I might add.) Until then, I'm going to the basement to lay face down in a dark place. When the pizza man comes, get the door.