What shall I say today? What do I have to say?
Here's what.
It's unseasonably warm. There's something so grown-up about referring to a day as being "unseasonably warm," perhaps because it alludes to the fact that you must have been alive long enough and been bored enough to pay attention to the weather for enough years that you know what's considered "seasonable" and therefore, what must be considered "unseasonable."
As I was saying. It's unseasonably warm. And so, I think to myself, I must get outside. We should go on a hike or walk around on a boardwalk or go to the beach. Yes, let's go to the beach. But no, my time is no longer my own and my oldest child is now only mine between the hours of 3:30 pm and 8:30 the next morning. And really, if I must wake him at 7 to ready him for the hours of belonging to another entity, then he should go to bed early enough to facilitate this early rising. And so then, he's really only mine until 8:30 pm. 5 hours. Not nearly long enough to go to the beach when the drive takes 3.
So a boardwalk then. But there aren't any about. Strike that.
A hike? But I'd have to wear shoes since I've managed to throw away one pair of hiking sandals and lose another. How does one lose a pair of shoes? I've always wondered, when I saw shoes lying at the side of the road: How did their owner walk off and leave them there without missing them? Having joined the ranks of lost owners, I still wonder. And my toes are the parts that most long for the sunshine and the warmth, so no. Indeed not.
So what shall I do? How shall I celebrate the unseasonable warmth?
Why, I shall write, of course. About everything and about nothing.
Here's what.
It's unseasonably warm. There's something so grown-up about referring to a day as being "unseasonably warm," perhaps because it alludes to the fact that you must have been alive long enough and been bored enough to pay attention to the weather for enough years that you know what's considered "seasonable" and therefore, what must be considered "unseasonable."
As I was saying. It's unseasonably warm. And so, I think to myself, I must get outside. We should go on a hike or walk around on a boardwalk or go to the beach. Yes, let's go to the beach. But no, my time is no longer my own and my oldest child is now only mine between the hours of 3:30 pm and 8:30 the next morning. And really, if I must wake him at 7 to ready him for the hours of belonging to another entity, then he should go to bed early enough to facilitate this early rising. And so then, he's really only mine until 8:30 pm. 5 hours. Not nearly long enough to go to the beach when the drive takes 3.
So a boardwalk then. But there aren't any about. Strike that.
A hike? But I'd have to wear shoes since I've managed to throw away one pair of hiking sandals and lose another. How does one lose a pair of shoes? I've always wondered, when I saw shoes lying at the side of the road: How did their owner walk off and leave them there without missing them? Having joined the ranks of lost owners, I still wonder. And my toes are the parts that most long for the sunshine and the warmth, so no. Indeed not.
So what shall I do? How shall I celebrate the unseasonable warmth?
Why, I shall write, of course. About everything and about nothing.
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