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Summer’s gone. I overslept and woke up to the chill of Fall

I’m not quite ready for Summer to leave yet, so I’m doing my part to coax it into staying around a few days longer at least. Consider: I’ve still yet to wear long pants to work; my barbecues increase in frequency as the mercury drops; I walk in the rain, bare-headed, as if I don’t even notice it; my school binder still contains the remnants of spring quarter, and I couldn’t tell you what books I need to buy to save my life; I floated on an air mattress today. The only thing left for me to do is to buy a cheesecake and tell Summer that if it sticks around it can have half.

Despite my best efforts, Fall has descended onto Seattle in a torrent of rain and chill. This morning dawned bright but terribly cold, and the three days prior were characterized by sudden bursts of rain between periods of lifeless gray skies. When the sun does make an appearance, its rays are meek and powerless, like a voice from underneath a heavy blanket. In reality, Fall is my favorite season, owing to the crisp air and gorgeous colors, but I’m still not ready for its arrival. There were so many things I planned to do this summer, and when I took stock of the situation today my list came back with half the items unchecked. Perhaps my regret at Summer’s departure stems from how profoundly awesome it has been; I want to keep the gravy train rolling. And perhaps the events of the last few days have underscored in my mind the sort of loping, laughter-filled hours I’ll soon be trading for textbooks and basement programming labs.

Just lately I’ve received a disproportionate number of surprise visitors knocking on my back door – Kelly, who had been in California, on Wednesday, and Bryan, who everyone thought was in Vancouver, on Thursday. I had to spend time with those people, and others, when they knocked; the choice wasn’t mine to make, but simply the logical course I must take, like water flowing downhill or some other natural law. Life swept me up in its current and led me where it wanted me to go, typical of this summer in general but not the rest of my life. Last night, I played my first game of hearts in years, and came one heart away from winning by shooting the moon on the last hand. And today Laurel, Marta, and I shopped for clothes at Value Village.

I’d forgotten the joy and agony of used-clothing bargain hunting. There are plenty of garments on display I’d be proud to add to my collection, but I had some difficulty with selection; Value Village isn’t your typical department store. For one thing, shuffling old men and reeking hobos don’t normally comprise identifiable subsets of typical department stores. Some of the patrons smelled so strongly that when I was trying on shirts I had to walk halfway across the store to make sure that the odor was emenating from them, not the soon-to-be-mine garb. For another thing, you only get one shot at Val Vill clothing. If you see a shirt you absolutely adore and it doesn’t fit, it’s not like they have other sizes available. That was your one chance at shirt ownership, and you blew it by being three inches too short. Also, spending impulses are much harder to ignore when the impulse buy in question is four dollars instead of fourty. I bought a pink shirt that was too small for me just because my soul told me to, and the price tag provided all the justification my weak sense of self-restraint required to fold. All in all, I ended up with four shirts, a pair of pants, some tee shirts, and an oil painting already hanging in my apartment. My best find is an exquisitely grotesque orange silk shirt, which I wore while trying unsuccessfully to fly a kite at Magnusson park with Kelly and Laurel. I kept making comments about how sexy the shirt was on me; the absurdity of the claim saved the fashion statement.

We just made hamburgers and jojos. Marta cooked a veggie burger and used it to garnish her actual burger, the kind made from cow flesh. Somewhere, a vegetarian is crying.

Posted in Musings.


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