This summer, I didn’t work to make the world a better place. I irresponsibly avoided serving slightly warm soup to hungry vagabonds at the local soup kitchen. I neglected to cook more than once a week, and when I did, it usually was something fast, cheap, and uninspired. I put off writing that killer pop song that I can’t get out of my head. I forgot to partake in deeply moving cultural events that reminded me of why it is good to be alive. I still don’t know why Everybody Loves Raymond. I refused to expand my horizons. I renounced my stomach exercises every night. I refrained from performing large tracts from Peer Gynt every time I saw Jon Stewart on television. I denied myself the luxury. I opposed the urge to get busy with yo mama. I repudiated the sphincter-clenchingly sweet music of the ice cream truck. I annulled like it was 1999.
As of yesterday I’m back at work. Where the hell did the summer go?
