The weather in July can be exhausting. I’ve always pretty much associated the Fourth of July with hot, sticky weather and this year’s holiday weekend has lived up to that. Combine it with the incessant rain in the eastern half of the country and you’ve got a mix that won’t permit you to open your windows, but makes you simmer if you stay inside. We often handle this by seeking out air conditioned facilities where you don’t have to spend a ton of money in order to find some relief. It also happens that today is the anniversary of our moving into our new house when, as I recall, the current rainy cycle began. Restless, stormy nights may be Gothic, but they don’t fit the staid, steady nine-to-five lifestyle very well.
Despite it all, I still value summer. The sense of carefree days, as my friend over on Verbomania says, give estival days a shimmer like none other. So much so that it’s difficult to keep track of what day it actually is. For me this particular date will always remind me of buying a house for the first time and spending a literally sleepless hot night learning the hard lessons of homeownership. Still, since I mentioned Independence Day, I continue to find myself relieved at the lack of land lordliness when it comes to the list of those who hold something over my head. If only I could catch up on some sleep over a long weekend it might all seem more real. July can be like that.
As I saw this weekend approaching from a distance, I made plans at how much I would accomplish. I would get so much writing done that I’d be well ahead on my next project. I might figure out what it was most important to say, and maybe finally find the meaning to life. (Summer makes me feel optimistic, it seems.) I would post new videos on my YouTube channel. The weather, however, as the Psalms indicate, can change your plans. Twilight lengthens to the point of making night and day difficult to distinguish. Sleep doesn’t refresh the way it usually does and morning—my writing time—is hazy and lazy. My next book sits untouched on my hard disc while I look over boxes that remain unpacked from a year ago. Childhood summers set the pattern of dropping all and experiencing the mini-anarchy that lack of structure brings. Despite all that I’d hoped to accomplish, I find myself welcoming this hot and humid anniversary. That’s what July is like.