Why I Hate Summer, an essay

No, I was not on another Internet-free vacation. And really, I don't hate summer. I love it. So much that it exhausts me and leaves me with little time for blogging. When you live in New England, summer feels like it lasts only seven or eight weeks. That might seem like a long time, but when you compare it to winter which lasts, oh, seven or eight months, it can feel overwhelming. Why overwhelming, you ask? Isn't summer supposed to be the time to kick back and relax? Well, supposedly. But every year I feel as though I must cram every single hallmark of summer into two months (maybe two and half if the weather is good). BBQs, beach days, bike-riding, marshmallow-toasting, baseball games, popsicle-eating, amusement park trips, more swimming, more hot dogs...it's endless. Every moment seems like it's slipping by. I tried to go to yoga but spending nearly two hours in a dark room on a Saturday morning seems so much more appropriate for February. Almost every thing we do, I try to move to the outdoors. I was painting on the deck with my son yesterday -- it was perfect weather, not too hot or humid -- and I thought about how nice it was to be outside in shorts, just painting. But pretty soon I'll have plenty of time to blog when the snow on the deck is so high I can't even make a path to the grill . And that time must be coming soon because I'm already tripping over the Halloween costumes at the store.