summer reeks of the collective saying, ‘so there’s that time of year, here again, i don’t want to get all this messed up, my life’.
i don’t fight they’re reasons and suggestions towards the complication of schedules.
I could bother to wonder if it’s the vestige of agriculture meeting modernity, in the vein of elementary school calendars and farmhandedness. I do for a second, I wonder at the extremity of it though.
I hear, ‘there’s vacations, holidays you know, and i don’t know how to hold my life together otherwise.’
this is what i am told, and i’m fine with it.
i want to start another blog that my protestant work ethic can’t read. that my Midwestern productivity committee cant access due to privacy firewall helicopter accountability controls. fruits of labor are still in production. weeds are being weeded. the pepper plant’s flowers haven’t fallen in the night.
all because it’s summer and there’s sun out and the hot makes us all fall down.
for lack of air conditioning. considering that we’d turn it on all but twice a year, if at all.
and to think that the world could burn any second, so we really ought to tempt our skin to burn under the waves and the tepid water of a salt white beach. piles of white to be set out on the table and tossed into salad. oil and vinegar, salad season: that’s supposed to help me feel like i’m taking a break from a lifestyle completely built around taking a break?
at least, at the very least, throw me an avocado and some ranch dressing. only if it doesn’t taste like watered-down mayonnaise and garlic powder. i’m grateful yes, for the advent of croutons in this country. resealable, prepackaged and damn, we’re already feeling ‘special’… probably not going to inflate the profit margins though, to film a TV commercial hawking tiny cubes of hard bread. ‘indulgent’ up to the point that tempts the soul into dragging ass – when you have to create you own salad dressing with the cutting dread of fucking up the ratios.
i made cream of mushroom soup from scratch last night, completely clueless about proportions and ingredients and time. turned into a kickass tuna casserole, the existence of which is both hilarious and practical considering the geographical context. but mixing the correct amounts of white wine vinegar, olive oil and sea salt evokes the most profound and all-consuming anxiety.
i made blue cheese dressing once, because the boy loves that kind of dairy product that can be smelled from the moment the elevator reaches our floor. loves that shit. making it was easier than having to decide how much of a given clear liquid should be poured on to how much of a given raw vegetable.
salads are friggin boring. im so glad i no longer have an eating disorder.
crucial is the balance of parts combined.
maybe it only feels like a disordered season because it’s full of healthy breaks.