Monthly Archives: July 2014

July: A Cheerful Recap

I have never liked summer, no.  The cons are too numerous to mention but bugs + sweat + cooking as little as possible = terrible horrible irritable me.  But this July– (shakes head, wry smile), she was a doozy.  Murphy’s Law oversaw the painstaking hand-scraping of all silver linings from clouds– and the shiny silver shavings are lodged in my eyes.

I’m best when challenged I suppose but I’m fucking sick of being so good at getting by, getting over, making do, making the best of things, counting my blessings (can’t, just can’t even think of that phrase without the song from VBS {vacation bible school for those who escaped the summer ritual) running through my head, “Count your blessings, name them one by one, count your many blessings see what god has done.”  If it’s now in your head, you’re most welcome.  I have Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A Minor playing so it’s out of my head, sorry to get all snooty but I heard a bit of it on the commute home and had to hear the whole thing.  If you grooveshark it yourself you’ll go, Oh, I know this one!  So good.

Back to bitchin’.   The prince consort’s vehicle died an hour and a half away, with the prince and his dad stranded.  That mofo of a car is unsalvageably a bastard.

The fridge died– well, the fridge was in hospice anyway.  Woke up to the lilt of a semi idling in my kitchen every 17 minutes for exactly 11 minutes.  FanTASTIC.  I’d sooner have Miley Cyrus repeat “Whatever dude” in my ear round the clock.

Realized with a whimper, an eye-roll, and a mighty blow to my soul, that I have tendinitis in my foot, finishing (for now) my five am forty-minute forays into the early dark of my neighborhood.  Alliteratively: fuck you, foot.

Bad news of this tiresome sort is unsustainable– a fridge must be bought, and was.  A new car must be purchased and essentially has been, and will be in our possession in a week or so.  My foot will heal, as feet do.

But this July has sucked monkey dick, it really has.  I’m tired.  As I told my therapist, I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself and am desperate to get back to being grateful.  These days are long but the years are so short– I don’t want to spend a minute more being anything but delighted for the gift of this life.