Summer Solves Everything.

I never knew I'd take so much pleasure in being so exorbitantly boring.

Each day is a repeat of the one before and I don't really give a shit. Nine to fiving, showering, hitting send/receive, reading celebrity gossip sites, running errands, cleaning, paying my bills, making myself dinner, listening to the same music on repeat.

It's all about waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and knowing that summer solves everything.

So let's fall into bed, live the same day over and over, make a buck, carry packed lunches and coffee in a Starbucks mug. Let's have brunch every weekend and a nap in the afternoon and let's spend each evening night in front of the tv, adjusting the coat hanger attenna. There's no tiptoeing left.

I'm going to write a million words, none of which are for him or her or them, few of which are for me, and all of which, by proxy, are mundane and not even worth being reduced to zeros and ones.

It's just the same pictures over and over and over again. Smile, flash, repeat. And I'm waiting. I'm slipping and I've slid, and thenextthingyouknow, I'm a house in the suburbs and subscriptions to gardening magazines.