Life in the Summer

I used to think I knew so much
And that was just yesterday
I used to think I was so sane
But you can’t be sane and still eat your ice cream
Not in this life anyway
Or maybe not at all
I’m practicing saying no
I’m practicing saying no
And I’m going to keep going even though
There’s a rash on my hands
From cleaning up the mess
And right now I’m so angry I could kick my own ass
In a braless, bare knuckle mud wrestle
Frozen like Pluto
Dark like a man
I’m not going to let it kill me
Because I still feel alive inside
I still have things to say about life in the summer

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It’s obvious that when the apocalypse comes, I will be one of the weak people. I will have no spin kicks with which to defend myself. I will have only the magic of my words and my understanding to protect me. I will be meat for the beast. (Unless I can engage him in conversation.) And I am fine with that. If my death at monstrous hands becomes imminent, I hope I can meet it in a lounge chair, sipping on a gin martini.

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