And by state of affairs I do not mean the status of the five imaginary extra-marital relationships I am currently pursuing with the leading lights of contemporary nerddom, alas.
I imagine a fuzzy novel (n.b. tragically distinct from a fuzzy navel), a soft-covered, soft-boiled, soft-core rectangle of wish fulfillment in which a lonely, thoughtful teen, thrown out of her lonely, thoughtful element, loses portions of both of her defining characteristics through the intervention of a) weather and b)a novelicious teenage boy.
(n.b. novelicious teenage boys tragically distinct from normal teenage boys, insofar as the former are thoughtful, lonely, and wise, and the latter are normal teenage boys).
But the only lonely, thoughtful teendom I have lying around is some leftover high school angst, so pretty much I've just had a long summer. The longest summer of my life to be both precise and titular. It started off with a sweatsoaked midwestern May and is ostensibly ending with the last few days' last few whimpers of Southern swelter.
It's October. I'm still wearing shorts to bed. Enough said.
Since I've now endured a record five months of summeration, I have begun, like any good lonely, thoughtful blogger, to catalog the psychological effects of extended warmth:
- Tomato entitlement
- Pathological languor
- Pimm's (over-reliance upon)