I am hating this weather. I loathe the transition from summer to fall. It reminds me of having to go back to school, do homework, keep track of shit after having so much fun and sun and lack of real responsibility. Not sure why this persists into adulthood; it’s been many, many a year since I had a real summer vacation, like a kid. Even in college I usually took at least one class over the summer in an effort to make up time lost to my indecision the first two years. But it still, still makes me sigh. I feel cheated out of the last few sweltering, sweaty days and nights we usually have this time of year that make living in Ohio through the nasty winters worth it. I’m not ready for this sinking, butterfly stomach feeling of the calendar year being well past half over. I want more bikini weekends and fireflies and new flowers blooming and even mosquito bites. I don’t want to think about Thanksgiving and Christmas and next year and…turning thirty. It’s not the number, I don’t think. I don’t know what it is. It’s just always like this to me.