Enter Label: To the end of June (Recovery check in #1)
Just a short message for the end of June. We basically played pin the tail on the donkey, she and I, except where the pin is a solid wack to the butt.
I think actually a simple Russian Roulette reference would have worked better here.
Anyway, I’m I’m still standing and you, June, will be forgotten, memorialized in some fireman calendar left to rot on a rotting fridge in a cement basement, a photograph taken and posted on Instagram that nobody will scroll down to in 2 months time.
June, you treated me like a castrated cheshire cat in a cast. You made my window foggy with your pleasant afternoon rain. And I sat there salivating. Never mind Cats. I was more like a hyena. (Incidentally, I just read Trump liked listening to Cats in the Office? Yeah, I accidentally click on Mirror articles, Ok).
But, I told myself everyday. Just. Get. Through. June. And here we are. I literally rolled my eyes when I realized that the longest day of the month was in June , and I was going to pass through it. I just thought, you would do that, wouldn’t you June.
Now I know very few normal people in normal circumstances would hate on a month like June. I dunno, maybe people studying for the bar, or people in their 7 month of pregnancy. (Hey, wait that was me too). But normally, I’d never want a June to end. June is my sexy month.
Because my birthday is in July, and June is my month to go out and proclaim that younger number, just one last time. I always went out extra at the end of June, waving that younger age flag. Like I’d actually kind of be panicked that I needed to fit one more thing in, one more new friend, one more flirtation. It’s amazing to think the deference I paid to that sort of thing, the pressure I’d put on myself like I was playing some kind of combination of the games Life and Blackjack. I wonder if it has to do with me skipping a grade and the fixation on how much younger I was than everybody else? I dunno. Just another facet of my personality that refused to accept uncontrollable change.
Of course, what always happened is someone would ask me when my birthday was, and that would be a little bit embarrassing.
How old are you?
29.
So whens your birthday, then?
Coming up…
When?
July 8
So 9 days, huh? So you are basically 30.
No. I’m 29, and I can do plenty, and I mean plenty, of damage in 8 days.
8 days could be enough to go somewhere on a random trip, 8 days could be enough to sleep at home only 4 nights, 8 days was enough to run out of all money, 8 days was enough to lose a lot of weight to look good for my birthday.
So yes, June and I have always been on good but anxious terms. I’d want June to drag to the longest possible extent. Back when my mind was riddled with the most deliriously silly thoughts.
June. Nowhere near the end of summer, yet deep in its gifts. And me, younger still.
As for all you humanoid friends of mine, I hope you are having a wondrous time. And I hope next June we will be celebrating life together.