It's almost June--almost the month when everything changes. Traditionally it gets warmer and better, and I get a year older. I've become more equivocal about all this in the past few years; the birthday definitely no longer seems like a triumph promising a joyful future full of triumphs. So June brings a combination of the old hope and a fear of disappointment, and it's odd how large its arrival is looming in my little psyche.
On some level, it just makes me want to barbeque and swim and eat tomatoes. To hang towels out to dry in the breeze off the water. Not exactly to go to China and pee into a paper cone my mom has ordered in bulk from a catalogue specializing in travel to icky places--but not exactly not to do that, either.
2 comments:
I almost died reading it. HenHen wouldn't want to pee in a cone either.
HenHen
This is exactly how I think of October. Season of change. My birthday. Only it's death instead of rebirth. Instead of bathing suits, bicycles; instead of barbecues, trick-or-treaters; instead of tomatoes, pumpkins. What a funny sort of balance.
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