For once it was a summery day today. It was hot, it was sunny, I wanted to be everywhere but where I was (at my desk at work). We had a weird summer so far, with a month of July that sometimes looked like September, sometimes looked like well, pretty much anything but what you would expect of July. Now for the first time in a long, long time, I had this image of me: on a patio, or a balcony (say in Montreal), or a garden, reading a book (lighter than the one I'm reading at the moment), mistreating my liver with a tall glass of beer, keeping my salt level high with a huge bag of crisps, and overall being utterly decadent. This was the right temperature, the right sun, the right temperature, just not the right day.
Summer has sometimes this annoying habit of coming at the wrong moment, when one is so disappointed about it that when the hot days are finally here, we are just blasé. I do get like this anyway, but I don't think I am the only one. My cousin was mentioning back in August 2009 that the heatwave that came over Montreal surprised everyone right after their holidays, taken during a July that had been particularly lousy. I think this has something to do with an aspect of summertime: it is not a naturally comfortable season. It is enjoyable when you do nothing, or very little, when you enjoy farniente. When you are on holidays, it is a blessing. For working people, especially those in catering and tourist industries, it can quickly become a burning Hell. For the waitress, it is swept and customers, as one of our singers said in this song. But so far, I cannot say that it had been much Hell, or Heaven. More like a muddled Purgatory.
7 hours ago