eight days a week

if my life were a Beatles song, i would be leaving for Atlanta exactly one week from today, the start of a much-anticipacted two month vacation from the (already) oppressive south Florida summer.

what would it be like to live in a Beatles song?

unfortunately, this is not the case and so i've spent my morning trying to tend to all the things that need to get done before next Thursday. some of them, like my thesis prospectus, should have been done months ago. others, like the quote from the caterer, are not more than three weeks behind schedule. but this is beside the point.

the point is that somehow, without any foresight or planning, June has become my annual month of travel. three years ago it was North Carolina, two years ago St. Pete and Vermont, last year Woodstock and Boston, and there seems to be no rhyme or reason to when i go where or why.

(there is probably some sort of grand metaphysical metaphor in that last statement. of course, it could also be totally empty.)

anyway, whatever the reason, whatever the meaning, i'm looking forward to this summer's excursion, and my excitement, or perhaps the expanding of the universe, has combined with the long days of early June, causing time to seem strange and strained and sometimes maimed, cutting deeper and deeper into the nighttime, linking one day to the next like so many commas connecting clauses in a gigantic run-on sentence worthy of Márquez, who has agreed, against his will, to come with us, bringing with him not only his Solitude, but also his Cholera:

next time (?) : summer reading list...