An Open Letter to Summer

Summer:

I know you're not an entity, and this will be by most accounts a ridiculous exercise, but I feel I have to get this out as you're leaving for the year.  At least I hope you're leaving.  I think you'll agree you never really left last year.

In the past, when I personalize you, I depict you as a spoiled brat.   I had forgotten about that until this year, when I was encouraged early on before you brought the heat down to dress for it and be more welcoming.  I took to the suggestion, as walking around in black jeans seemed like a bad idea.

I dressed in shorts.  I also mixed it up and dressed in bright colors.  Yours was a party I wanted to join.

I look at the photos taken of me--by well-intending friends--and my first thought is that I look like an idiot.

I look like someone invited to a party out of pity.

Summer, you're not just a spoiled brat, you're also the party I almost never attend.  And when I do, I regret it.

I can handle not belonging to the party.  It's when I try to fit in that I always end up regretting.

You had your fun.  I can tell I was likely laughed at when my back was turned.  At least you can't say I didn't try.

And I'm sure I'll try again next year.  It's what I do.

But for now, I want to wrap myself in my overcoat, walk in a leaf-filled park, and not think about you for a while.

Because, true to how I envision you, you didn't think much about me this year.

Update: I effed up.  See this followup and apology.