Summer recently started. There’s no way I’d have known if I hadn’t googled, “When does summer start 2020.” It’s hard to keep track of the days when there’s another murder, another CHOP incident, another funny video of Trump walking down a ramp all weird, and another frightening (but somehow not shocking) pandemic stat to be known every other day.
So it’s the middle of the year, and I know that when July hits, the aliens are touching down on planet Earth, so I figure I’ll continue as I am— taking it all in stride. With a chocolate mint chip popsicle in hand.
It’d be nice to do some summery activities, like laying in the sun, simultaneously absorbing vitamin D and also potentially raising my skin cancer risk. Or maybe strawberry picking would be sweet and festive, but seeing as how the year is going, we’d probably pick strawberries one day only to find that the strawberries are actually ghosts that if ingested take you straight to hell. Like you eat a strawberry, and it drags you straight to hell. (Sorry, been watching too many WhatCulture videos about ‘10 horror movies with unexpected endings.’)
King County is in phase 2 of openings. Which sounds apocalyptic, but whatever. What I do know to be true is that I’m not ready to shed this blanket off of me. I know it’s summer and sometimes 80 degrees, but I am not willing to take this comfy quarantine blanket off my body. I’ve become my true self, and I don’t want to be my fake self in the real world again. I also need to trim my bangs, and I’m not sure I remember how.