Summer’s Ending

Well, August has definitely arrived. Just like that, I can feel summer slipping away. Says the girl who decided to begin her summer in the middle of spring. Now I just want someone to bring June back to me. Even May and then live forward from there, again. Life felt so full of possibility, everything on the horizon had a blurry haze of potential. August just feels like a gigantic dark storm cloud. Maybe it’s not the seasons, maybe it’s not the calendar, maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe it’s just raining in my mind. I wish I could start a revolution, begin the movement…a union of people who finally decide that life’s too short to only be your true self beneath the guise of summer. The army of people who decide to give themselves over to being that person all year ’round because frankly, otherwise, this life is exhausting. I can’t keep up with the charades, with the half truths, and with all the little stories that only have beginnings.

I need some stories in my life to have some middles. They don’t need to have endings, not yet, but some progression towards a middle ground and the delay of dead ends would be wonderful.

This morning I woke up at 5am. No snooze, no rolling over and closing my eyes again. The alarm started buzzing, I sat up, I turned it off, I put my feet on the floor, and I was moving. I went for a run, since my injury it’s what I’d consider a “long” run, though me from six months ago would beg to differ. It doesn’t matter. The distance doesn’t matter. All that matters is, when you’re running in a residential neighborhood at 5am in that weird in between time before public school and colleges have resumed classes – the neighborhood streets are absolutely empty. It’s Friday, so it’s not trash pick up day out here either. There’s not the hum of the garbage truck, or the mosquito spraying trucks, or even that weird construction team that corals around a retention pond in one of my culdesacs. They don’t work in the dark. But my heart does, my feet do, my legs do. It was just me and the darkness, and the occasional streetlamp, and when the trees weren’t obstructing it – the glow of the sliver of the moon that was shining. I needed that. Except for the part when a opossum made eye contact, (I think I startled him,) as he popped out from a pile of branches at the end of someone’s dark shadowy driveway. That little run-in made my insides coil, but other than that – I needed to be tired. It doesn’t seem to matter how much I wear myself out, the thoughts won’t quiet down. But when I’m running, and there’s a rhythm, and there’s pure solitude, then no one can add to that static, it’s just me.

It’s Friday. Making it to Friday feels like an accomplishment this week. I was emotionally spent by Monday afternoon, so each day after has been a struggle to rebuild some energy and clear my mind. Sometimes I wonder if a person can feel too many emotions, have too many thoughts floating around because I’m pretty sure I’ve reached capacity. Everything feels full. Then, just when you think the cup is full to the brim, someone adds a little extra – a few more drops. It’s almost amusing except that it’s not.

The confessions that get delivered, I don’t know how to process. I’m taking them in, but they’re not going anywhere. It’s like…mail getting delivered that you haven’t opened yet. I know that they exist, but I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t want to unzip the baggage, when I could just stow it away in the closet with the rest of the luggage. And anyway, the words have come late. They’re not meant for us, as we are now. They’re meant for two kids standing in the dew of the morning grass, in a  corner of a yard under a stop sign.  I have Clementine’s speech on repeat in my mind because people are always trying to mold you to fit the concept they have in their own heads, of whoever they think you are. Love and lust, they’re all blinding. This can be positive or negative, it can allow people to give someone the benefit of the doubt, or it can let them ignore the obvious truth in front of them. Obviously, that’s the negative side. And I’m tired of being turned into some concept, a chapter in the book, but it’s that version where the writer changed their mind. They thought it’d be longer, but when it came down to it, they only needed a few pages to explain. I don’t know why it’s like I wear a neon sign that attracts trouble. It’s like there’s a flashing arrow above my head that follows me around and tells people to direct their misguided quarter-life crisis experiments at me. I wouldn’t even mention it, if it weren’t such a recurring issue. I seem to find myself involved in the tangled web, that seemed like a clear path to begin with. And this is how the roads lead to a pile-up at the junction with all the cars smashed up. Scrambled up like the eggs I made for breakfast this morning. You’re lucky to escape it all without a scratch.

But, there’s always a but. You can walk away. And that’s why I’m glad it’s Friday. The weekend is only eight hours away, and I can walk into the arms of open stretches of highway, away from my construction zone of a job, empty confessions, and into sunshine and into temporary freedom.


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