Wishing my life away

It's hot out, okay? It's hot out and I'm pale and I only like to wear sweaters and jeans, with the occasional skirt thrown in. Yes, I dress like a Catholic school girl. No, you may not take "artistic" photographs of me.



It seems like only three months ago that I was wishing for the summer, and now here I am longing for fall. Fall is my favorite season. Always has been, even when it meant that I'd have to go back to prison for the year. (If you're wondering why a bookish lass such as myself wouldn't have wanted to go back to school every year, I'll direct you to the following evidence: exhibit A, my hair, which won't behave; exhibit B, my vocabulary, which was always that of an elderly tweed-clad college professor; exhibit C, my big fat mouth, which seems to want to flap all day long, especially when it would be much, much better to shut up.)



This year, the longing for autumn hit me even as I was enjoying my summer vacation in Oregon. Oregon isn't the sunniest place in the world, but it's sunny enough if you're on the beach, which I was. My sister's brother-in-law was very amused to find that there are people who have cover up in the sun. He stood over me as I lay under a towel, coated with 30 SPF sunblock, wearing a hat, and sunglasses, and longing for a hazmat suit, and said, "If you're going to lie there under all that stuff and sleep, why don't you just stay in bed?"



"Stay right where you are," I said. "You're blocking the light."



Fall is coming. I need a new kilt. Also some knee socks. I'll see you all at the uniform store.