As I Was Saying…

tweet yallYeah, so didn’t make it back quite in the time frame I imagined. I’m just not going to get into why because it’s really just not that interesting. I mean, I know I’m not generally interesting anyway, but this is like hearing someone else’s dream not interesting. It’s like listening to someone describe a dress not interesting. Have you ever noticed that when someone describes what she’s going to wear, it never looks like you think it will? There’s a lot of that going on in my world.

And yet here I am. IT’S ALL FOR YOU, INTERWEBZ!

I just want to say that I hate spring. I mean, I hate summer more. Especially August. But summer is at least honest. You know you’re going to be miserable in summer. You know you’ll spend three months peeling your thighs off hot car seats. You know you’re going to shower three times a day because walking out to get the mail makes you sweat through your caftan. And your mailbox isn’t even at the road. You know there are bugs as big as toddlers that are just waiting patiently to suck the life out of you by biting your ankles…just like toddlers with wings, in fact.

No, I hate spring because it’s too damned optimistic. Spring is all about promise, but it’s like the promise of that pub with the sign “Free Beer Tomorrow”. And now we’re into June and it’s going to be 95° this week with 876% humidity. You know what that means? There’s nowhere for the sweat to go. So you spend a little time outside and you turn into a Syracuse salt potato but without the creamy interior. Spring is crafty like a ninja. One day you’re sweating your bippy off and the next day you’re digging for wool socks. One day everything’s all green and fluffy and the next day it’s like Colonel Kilgore decided he wanted to smell victory so everything’s charred.

Also in Memphis, as in much of this part of the world, the hotter it gets, the more we all start sounding like Blanche DuBois. The heat turns our brains syrupy and ridiculous memories start oozing out our ears so then we’re like Blanche DuBois at the end of the play. And we start using the term “branch water” too much.

I’m going to be writing more regularly this summer, although I’ll just tell you up front I’ve got some obligations that might make that more difficult in the immediate future. BUT DO NOT CRY, GENTLE READER. For just like bangs and STDs, you’re pretty much stuck with me from here on out.

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12 Comments Add yours

  1. Himself says:

    Neil has moved out east since the fire. He is open and doing fine.

  2. Gita8 says:

    Now, see, I didn’t know you had taken a purposeful break from all of us. I thought you had just cut ME out for reasons of insouciance and potty-mouthedness.
    So hey, could you send me one of those wine backpacks with bendy straw?

    1. Susan says:

      I just cain’t quit you

  3. pernilla says:

    Oh I missed you. I also went to a bar on Saturday and for the first time saw the sign “Free beer tomorrow” (and I have been to a bar or two, right?) so basically, I think the universe was telling me I was about to get your blognessness back.

    (I swear this was yesterday and not today, although I realize I sound like I have been drinking in an Irish bar all day)

    1. Susan says:

      It was my awesome shark backpack. I wear it while writing. It’s the perfect size for my box of wine and a bendy straw.

  4. desicubs says:

    The elliptical said to tell you of you can’t stand the heat stay out of the kitchen.

    1. desicubs says:

      *if*

    2. Susan says:

      Yeah, she’d know about kitchen heat. What with all that burning from working her way through the kitchen staff at Red Lobster. She ordered the shrimp and got crabs for free.

  5. Bill Homoky says:

    The world is a better place when you are writing!

    1. Susan says:

      Awwww…go on…

    1. Susan says:

      Thanks! It’s kinda pretty without my head up my butt.

Just spit it out, already!

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