to resent the summer

mid-july musings

It is mid-July, and I wish it was not.

For the past two weeks or so, my home in the Bay Area has raged with a heat wave, leaving me unable to work up the motivation to do anything except lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The fan is blasting at the highest setting towards my face but it doesn’t really seem to help anything besides pushing the hot air around. I will, of course, pretend to be productive or be thinking about some innovative and inspirational things, but I am truly daydreaming of useless fantasies. 

Summer has become lonely. My best friends are gone on vacation and the people home I cannot muster up enough energy to be pleasant to. The novelty of the season has melted away with my strawberry popsicles and vanilla ice cream. 

Because isn’t there something so beautiful about the summer? In June I am filled with such vigor to be off of school, able to spend all day doing what I so please, and spend my time with who I would like. Pinterest boards are filled with images of pastel-colored bikes, ferris wheels, and groups of friends in pretty swimsuits in the sparkling blue sea. The days and hours stretch ahead of you, free from the worry of finals, AP exams, and homework. Summer is a picture of nostalgia, the time to allow yourself to become a child again with no cares in the world. I jump into this idea in June, but my vigor for this concept has begun to fizzle out come July.

the mood board I made for myself in the summer of 2022 but I didn’t do any of these things

For the first few weeks of summer break, I found myself at a loss of what to do with my time, but the time was welcome to remember the things I enjoy. The majority of my time was spent watching Gilmore Girls and making friendship bracelets. This was summer for me. I think this was crucial, as I began to find who I was as an individual again, away from school and after heartbreak. 

Now it is July and I no longer desire this summer for myself. But as I said, my friends are gone on vacation and I am left at home. The sun seems to beat down a little harder, and its rays aren’t welcome any longer.

The other day, I found myself becoming obsessed with the idea of autumn again. How nice it would be to wear sweaters, feel the back-to-school adrenaline, and get cozy under a pile of blankets. But I know I suffer from seasonal depression, and come October, I will begin to resent the autumn as well. I always find myself wishing for another season about halfway through another, which I recognize as ironic every time it happens. If I wish for the summer so badly in January, shouldn’t I enjoy it while it’s here? I don’t want to spend my whole life wishing for what could be, especially because I’ll end up yearning for the time I’m now wishing was over. I resent the season, but mostly I resent myself.