Some very good things happened this summer, but in the last two weeks. Not during what people considered the "real" summer, late June to Labor Day.
During the hottest months, it was failure after failure.
There were other highlights from the summer. I might post a couple on Instagram. Right now, I'm too disgusted with myself to even bother.
Nothing bad happened in my "professional" life. If anything I excelled at that (or at least bailed myself out of getting into trouble). Great. Awesome. Wonderful.
Other people "won" the summer. They summered all the summer they could.
They won all the summer.
That's just f--king great.
As far as my real work went, everything suffered.
If I'm going to make a real impact this year, I have to resort to cramming. That's been true to my life for a while. I hate it. I hate it even more this year.
The Boston Poetry Marathon didn't happen this summer. It's happening next weekend, but that's not summer.
That means the one thing I have to look forward to every summer didn't happen.Next week personally will be a highlighting of another one of my failures.
I blame myself for what happened with the Boston Poetry Marathon. If I can help it, if gatherings like ours are still allowed next year, I'd like it to be better next summer. If anything can be better next summer.
Everything went out with a whimper this summer. Barely a gurgle.
This whole year has been largely disappointing as far as my output. I really wanted to be active this year. Especially during an election year.
But this has largely not been the case, and the potentially final summer of democracy in America made made my lack of work even more aggravating.
Instead of being happy, I spent most of my away time in discomfort or being outright sick.
On top of all that I not only lost a friend., but I've also started to see several other cherished people become lost in real time, fading.
The year of entropy peaked with summer. At least I hope it did.
I can't take much more of this.
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