Queen Supreme of the summer daze.

I have to get this off my chest. No, it's not my bra.

I wait so patiently for the end of the summer. Seriously. I'm not alive until September arrives and I can mingle amongst my common people again. Summer is always just such a slow time for me. Especially this summer. I'll tell you why.

Last summer, I spent my days wandering around in teenage brainless land with my best friend and pissing away the summer nights on her patio. Simple times, warm evenings and plenty of stories were told and made. It was good and the livin' was easy. The summer before that was a lonely one; I spent it alone in my house, but it was okay. I'd fall asleep on the couch at 3 or 4; wake up at 2pm the next day. I'd watch re-runs of Project Runway and then tune in to IFC to snag a few indies before my eyelids got heavier than my ambition. I'd paint my nails and sew and sketch televisions in one of the various sketchbooks that are now stashed like balloons of heroin around my dwelling. I also spent that summer obsessing over Tim Curry in drag, 1920's erotica and the Black Dahlia murder case. I eventually went away that summer, as I did last summer, and wasted my last couple of weeks of 'freedom' fucking around in towns that nobody knows exists.

This summer, however, has no claim to fame. I work. I sleep. My friends live on the
same clock as I do, and plans are almost impossible to make. There will be no great deck parties reminiscient of a certain Kim Mitchell song. Nope. There will be no journeys to tiny villages on the outskirts of equally miniscule towns. There will be no fashion re-runs or independent film comas - I got rid of IFC last June. All I do is wait around for my shift to start at work, and plan everything around that goddamn vest: polyester, stop sign red with dull plastic buttons and a collar that refuses to stay down, no matter how many times you press it and repress it. It's like prison garb, only less exciting. Such simplicity and joy I've never known until now, when I'd like it back the most. Age complicates things, I've found. You just don't expect things to end, do you? And as much as I hated summertime then, the resentment flows more fluidly now and with as much force as a self-inflicted puncture wound to the jugular. Sigh. At least I had choices before.

Did anyone else notice that A&E changed the little logo that appears in the corner of the screen slightly? It looks like a different font.

Proof that I am bored.