What a summer. A summer of smart phones and sunshine, stress and sleepiness, stories that might not get told, and the speedy passing of time. And it's over. Sigh. Not technically, I know...not for another three weeks or so, but school has started, and Sunday evenings have taken on their evil onus again, and I'm forlorn. I feel as though I've been robbed, because much of my summer was not-so-pleasant, and although I started with grand ideas about projects that would be done and structure that would be kept and clever new places that we would go...we did none of it.
This is actually the first time I've touched our computer since my last post two whole months ago. Blame the smart phone, with which I can maintain constant contact with all of my relatives, closest friends, and complete strangers. I'm a little bit addicted, I have to admit. I don't NEED to be on Facebook or Twitter, but if I'm not doing anything else, why not? Uggh, don't get me started. If I could go back, I would, but I don't think there's any turning back.
So, what DID I do this summer? Well, I rode a roller coaster of emotions with the whole dad's girlfriend thing. (I took a few people along with me on a few of those rides. There's a story there, but too much for this post.) I battled a flea infestation and nearly lost my older cat (another story for another day). I started making my bed every day, and insisting that Andrew make his. (Nothing else is clean, but if the bed is made, it LOOKS like it!) And I spent quite a bit of time at the lake, although not as much as I would have liked, due to the two issues I already mentioned. I nursed the hubby through yet another hernia surgery toward the end of the summer, and I bought a new car (new to ME, that is), which I am still very excited about, in spite of the fact that the reason it was for sale is unpleasant (the sudden dementia of my stepfather's mother).
What DIDN'T I do? Maybe I can list them here and have them not plague me and make me even more bitter than I already am. I didn't lose weight. I didn't get pregnant. I didn't go to the beach. I didn't paint anything or remodel anything. I didn't get to ride my riding mower because it stayed broken all summer. I didn't see a single one of my friends (or hear from them, for that matter...another post entirely) for the entire summer. I didn't make Andrew play outside when we were home. We didn't use the blow-up pool, with the exception of one day. I didn't enjoy much of it. And this ISN'T making me feel better. Sigh.
Alas, though, it's Sunday night. Andrew's in the tub making me bubble "smoothies" that he insists are getting warm while I'm typing this. He also tells me he'll sell me the secret recipe for $69.99. And my arms are rubbery and hurting from pruning bushes away from the sidewalk, and yes, it hurts to type. Whine. So, off I go, to scrub the little guy's head and get him tucked in in time to see True Blood, one of my few guilty pleasures and the one hour of the week that is just MINE.
I'll be back. And I'll be less moany and groany, and maybe even have a few pictures from the Summer of Hell to post. Pictures that make it look like I wasn't completely miserable. And hopefully my arms will hurt less by then.