I was never really a big fan of summer. It’s hot. My thighs stick together. In times past I have a tendency to feel lonely, or bored, or without purpose. It’s kind of a strange time of year, I mean, its like three months of whatever. When I was in school I never made big summer plans, and my dad’s idea of vacation was seeing his family in San Diego. Which was nice–some times. It wasn’t easy for me making friends in the summer. Sometimes in the summer I’d wake up wondering when the day would end–2, 3, or 4 in the morning? Days had no beginning and no end. I remember feeling like every day I was facing a new kind of sadness. A new kind of perversion, in myself. Some things were hard to face up to, as a teen. I got older, and I still kind of looked at summer through the same lens, but sort of passively. Well, it’s the middle of the year, I’d think. Nothing really happens in the middle of the journey and it’s not important because it’s neither the beginning nor the end right?

Then I met Justin. I met Justin, and he told me his favorite time of year is summer. He said it was the best time. The sunshine is out longer, he has more energy. The trees are beautiful. His dad heats up the grill. Something good is cooking, and Smirnoff probably goes good with it. In the summer you can stay up later, but not feel tired. It’s a time for road trips and adventures. Falling in love, or watching a movie with your best friend. Hanging out with your cousins, your dog, and your cat. It’s just so fun, he told me. You can relax a little easier. Life is fun.

He’s right. Summer is the best time of year.

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