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Dear Summer 2018: Please do not let the door slam repeatedly on your ugly ugly ugly head on the way out, pulverising it into a gritty, grey powder. I say good riddance to you, foul season. Fuck off at once and never return.
It is an understatement that I did not see you coming. I knew September might be a little melancholy, packing the kids off to their new lives in out-of-town universities. But I really thought July & August would be all steaks and pints, unicorns and roses. But that’s not how it played out.
It wasn’t the weather. It wasn’t the market. It wasn’t the Mariners. I can smile through those maladies and often do. No, dude– you were so much more…
Not only did so many of the cool summer things that happen in the best imaginary summers not happen, but lots of things that happen in the worst imaginary nightmare summers actually did. Friends died. Forests burned. Neighbors went mad and threatened to kill me. Governments failed and our entire social structure collapsed.
To be clear & fair: my health and the health of my family remains very solid. I’ve had this weird pressure behind my left eye since mid-August, but otherwise we are all extremely well. They say you don’t have anything if you don’t have your health, so I guess that is actually pretty important. And there’s been no cancer or AIDS or strokes or pancreatitis.
Everything else, though, sucked vigorously.
I suppose it’s worth noting that there’ve been no unwanted pregnancies or automobile accidents