An insomniac's thoughts about summer

Laying up at night, having tempted an absent sleep with comfortable pajamas and a warm bed for the past two hours, I cant help but feel guilty about the passing of each day in winter. Yes, I intentionally specify "in winter." If I putz around searching the internet, watching the television or eating a snack in bed, I must clarify as to what season this occurs in so I can realize if I feel guilty or fulfilled.

You see the summer carries different expectations. The long days scream:  soak up too much sun since it is out so long, take it in and it will worship you and make you smile; entice a lover to share your happiness and laugh-- it is the responsible thing to do. "Putzing" around the house in summer is sexy. It often involves a stringy dress and the passing of air over an aloe-applied back. Its barefoot, sand sticking to feet is easily brushed off as you recall the day at the beach. Internet surfing consists of music playing off your laptop, the faint melody travelling down one story through the open window to your roommates chatting on the front porch. The snack you're eating in bed is an assortment of vegetables you got from the farmers market earlier that week. Instead of buying yourself a bouquet with your extra change as you are always tempted, you take a trip to the store and buy a block of cheddar cheese, a black-eyed susan gold that contrasts with the red cherry tomatoes; they pop in your mouth. You haven't bought milk in about a month because you haven't really gotten up in time for breakfast. Unlike winter, a heavy bowl of cereal doesn't tempt you. Your hair is still dirty from the river. There is sand between your toes and when you rest your head on your arm it smells like sunscreen, coconut, sweat, wind and sun. You fall into a sleep that fills the inside of your eyelids with the muted photograph of the sunset you took with a blink of an eye during the evening run. You sleep with one leg under the sheet, one sprawled above.

There is a breeze coming through the window, and again I stress that the passing of each summer day is only sad in that its over-- never how it is spent.

A day never ends with you sitting up against the headboard, willing your eyes to get heavy, hoping for this day to pass so tomorrow can be better.