Summer is easily the strangest time of the year.
It is the period of time that, arguably, is the most revered. During the school year, we dream of summer as though as soon as it begins, anything can happen. "Yeah, I'm going to write a novel over the summer." "We're painting our entire house this summer." "This summer, my backyard will become exactly the one I've always wanted."
Sadly enough, most of these dreams are evaporated quickly as far out illusions. We have months to do anything and everything we want so we, in turn, do nothing. Of course, once in awhile (every month or so) we become disgusted with ourselves, so the gardeners weed for an hour, the writers write five pages, and the painters repaint the bathroom.
Then we wipe our hands, smile in brilliant satisfaction, and rush to post about our success on facebook.
Then, once facebook has glazed our eyes over and our fingers somehow manage to click out of it, we amble our way back to the couches to dream some more about our goals, Suddenly, June is over. July slips past. And finally, August goes by in the final zoom to shame the others.
Luckily, there is one blessed relief from the vegetation we are condemned to every summer. That relief is known as vacations. We get out of our house to view and do things if not productive, then at least thought inspiring. Vacations should be a time in these months that is prayed for, looked forward to, and prepared avidly for. Vacations should be our escape.
This is where summer becomes stranger than anything else. We get on these blessed vacations and begin to do things we have dreamed about for months, if not years. Every effort is pushed forward to make each moment a moment that we want to experience.
Suddenly we find ourselves feeling a sensation that by all means should be extinct by this point. It is called homesickness. Rather than enjoy the experience to its fullest, we dream of home, in all of its sitting stationary glory.
Summer is a beautiful thing.
However, today I dream of September.
