Secret Pop

Aug 14, 2003

the tinkle of ice in an advancing cocktail

Summer makes victims of us all. The heat. The late dusks. The rush to wear one's whites. The impending end of it. The fear of the lamenting that begins when you've failed to squeeze that last breath from the season. Failed to have that last poolside barnburner. Failed to get your bikini body out of the mothballs. Failed to quit smoking. Failed to reinvent yourself. Failed to move. Failed to remain still. Oh, but for another shot at that last big hurrah.

That's not me, I'm afraid. My years have ceased to mark themselves with the borders of academia. Each month is just another month. I measure my happiness. Take stock of my shortcomings. Remember what this month was like for me in its most recent iteration. Or the one before that. Summers often manage to slip by me unnoticed. But for the change in my wardrobe, one might never know I was paying attention.

No, I would never wish for an endless summer. I do not do well in the heat.

Yes, but at least it s a hot heat.

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