When Will It Be Over?

Today, I went outside, looked up at the sun, and asked, "Aren't you tired yet?" The sun began to giggle, which then developed into a hearty belly laugh. Then the sun spit in my eye.

It's July 25th and I'm beginning to think that summer will never end. It's like we had winter for six months, two days of spring, and then summer came marching in with a big smile and a huge erection. Summer's been porking us in the ass ever since. It's just too damn hot. You can't walk outside without immediately feeling like you've gone into a volcano. A dry volcano, somehow, or maybe it's just so hot and pyroclastic that your skin is melting and it feels dry.

But! Our car finally got its air conditioning back. Oh yes, we have spent these two months driving from hence to thence with the windows rolled down and the fan blowing full blast. My dad told us that the process of fixing it would be very expensive, and would take a very long time, and so we waited. Then, the car was taken in this morning. It was back by noon. WHAT? IS THIS A JOKE? No! No it's not a joke! We've been waiting all this time just because everyone was too lazy to give a shit! The fuck, dude. The fuck.

Things have been so, so slow around here. Like molasses in January. It's been a tread of poetry nights, band practice, baths and podcasts, new mastheads, and visits to my grandma's house. Poetry night itself has slowed to almost a stop. So basically, if you live in Salt Lake and want to show up for a poetry reading, it's Cafe Marmalade (361 N. 300 W.) at nine thirty. We're running low on readers and guests, and it's doing WONDERS for morale. Can you hear my sarcasm?

It's unfortunate because I feel partially at fault. My first poetry night, it was very crowded, and populated with actual adult poets. Once I came along, so did more teenagers, and all the adult poets spread out to Cup of Joe's Saturday night open mic and various other spoils. I scare away the big boys, I guess, and I feel terrible.

But my head hurts. I want to go to sleep, or maybe eat some chicken noodle soup. It's starting to get to that point in the summer where I'm sick of everything I'm talented at, and even more sick of the things I'm bad at. I'm sick of having this endless time on my hands to write and draw. As for my EHS classes, I can't seem to find the motivation or the concentration to work on them. Instead of being mature and blaming myself, I blame the summer and the summer's fat dick slapping against my back.