2009-08-20 / 2:04 p.m.

Every summer it rains more and more. I like it in the winter time. Everybody stays home because of the restless monster lurking outside in the skies.
This isn't what summer is about.

A lot of things have struck me over the past few days. I don't know if it's the weather refining me to certain parts of myself so that all I have to do all day and all night is to think and to sleep and to worry about how things have been slipping away. I don't know if it's something else.

I feel so desperately upset about the little things. Water dripping from a tap, incessantly drip drip drip. The way a child smiles when their face and hands are covered in sticky, sweet chocolate. That coin that I dropped to the floor over a week ago that I still haven't bent over to pick up.

The thing is, I have so many stories to tell, but it's the little things that I've been getting strung up on. I can't continue any sort of narrative when little birds are bringing me to tears. I don't know how I can be so observant, and yet, not at all.

I had high hopes for this year, and this summer.

I need to learn to not have high hopes.