Monday, June 11, 2012

Grapes of Contented Exhaustion

They yield a lackluster, watery juice.

Seriously, I have no idea what this title was supposed to have meant.

Screw July, Fuck August

Oh, how fun it is to find old blog posts saved in draft, title intact, with no memorandum as to what the original intent was!

So, "screw july, fuck august," recorded in blank draft form in September 2010. What was going on then in my life to prompt such harsh language?

I had just moved back to L.A. from ABQ, and it was a seriously cool summer. The summer that wasn't. It quite annoyed my friend from Canada who had moved to L.A. for the summer expecting some heat. It didn't happen. I doubt it broke 80 the whole summer in the basin. I doubt I was talking about weather, despite how much I actually do talk about weather.

July, I believe, was spent moving and living at my grandma's house. In August, N and I moved into our place in Del Rey.

And then my mind went blank as Tori Amos' Winter came on the radio. I never made up my mind, and things changed.

I miss July and August. It's so much easier to talk about the weather.