untitled, pg 2

For awhile, I feared the ending of summer.  There is something simultaneously idyllic and hectic about days that are mostly filled with sun.  I’m uncertain what to do with this abundance of time and light and goodness, so of course, I spend it doing very inconsequential things.  I may stare at my computer screen for entire hours, my mouse hand clicking on things but I’m not quite registering the changes in front of me.  Entire hours.  There isn’t even enjoyment of daytime, of summer, of warmth.  I feel stuck.  We get stuck.

I started carrying an oversized jug with me, to work and around the home, at my desk, to my bedroom, at the sofa.  I even brought it into the bathroom, only because it felt weird having any sort of beverage in there, even if it was only an oversized jug of water.  Let me explain: my mother has insisted (through email, from afar, I imagine despite in its digital form that she is simultaneously shouting these messages from two states away just to makes sure I get the message) that I drink more water.  She is vaguely concerned with my health.  I say vaguely because it doesn’t matter that I’m eating meals at irregular hours, five small meals a day (if you count granola bars, a bag of apples, or three pieces of chocolate as meals in themselves) at no particular time, in no particular order.  It doesn’t matter so much that I can’t jog a block, but look, I need to drink water.  So she insisted, through email, that I purchase the one she so kindly linked on a website but that she would not buy it for me, as that would of course be my own responsibility.

Has it made a difference?  I have to pee a lot.  That’s a difference, but that has to do with the water and not the jug itself, I hope.

So here I am, at the end of the summer, staring at computer screens and drinking water.  Throughout the day and at work people will ask things like, “How is your summer going?” And when it’s over, and even now, they ask, “How did your summer go?”  Existential acknowledgement – not even of me, just merely of seasons.  My summer is fine.  The weather has been great, hasn’t it.  How did your summer go.  That’s wonderful.  Say hi.  To whom … oh, the children, yes them.

So I wrote to my mother this morning.  I wrote on an index card and put a postcard stamp on it.  She enjoys getting physical mail (again, despite her digital correspondence), so I decided to indulge her, albeit very unseriously.

I wrote: “Thanks ma, I bought the water bottle.  Pee a lot more than I did before.  Cheers.”

The End

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