Turn the page

Flipping the calendar pages from June to July is. just. pointless. I feel as though my calendars should read "Same old," "Again," "Whatever," "Same ol' same ol'," "Rerun," etc, etc. The names of the months are meaningless any more, since very little in the squishy, day-to-day stuff changes. Even the weather mocks conventionality.

When I was a kid we had seasons. Winter meant cold and snow, shorter days and grey skies.

Spring arrived and brought with it rain and the greening process - and gradually warming temperatures.

Once summer errupted, spring had readied us for some warmer thermometer readings; and a heat wave knew not to overstay - like a good guest. The occasional heat wave made us grateful for spates of sudden rain and sitting in the shade.

Fall, likewise, knew when to make itself known. Summer would eventually burn itself out and melt into golds and burnt orange leaves, and the days would grow shorter and languid. Mornings were crisp and sometimes chilly, but a welcome relief and a beautiful change in palette from the green, green, green of summer. Fall is still my favorite time of year.

But over the last several years, summer has seemed to lose it's place and overextend its boundaries. Like a criminal mastermind it has overreached and insinuated itself on every other season - barging in and getting its dusty, humid, drying, mundane and contemptably greedy self all over the furniture and walls of the seasonal house!

Besides the stagnant place I find myself in the job hunting arena, I am also tired and fed up with this horrid and monotonous weather pattern.

Somebody grab a broom and head on over. It's time to sweep this dreck to the curb, but I'm gonna need a little help....or a much bigger broom!