Saturday, July 23, 2011

Because I refuse to be productive when it is 100 degrees outside.

Dear 9 pm,

You are my favorite time of day. Until you come along, it is too hot outside that I really don't feel like leaving the apartment. Even to lay out. Before you, I just go to work, eat anything and everything with blueberries in it, and hibernate... I may be turning into a bear. 

Then you show up outside my window with a technicolor sunset or a cool breeze, and suddenly I wake up. I want to play flag football. Soccer. Run. Go camping or hike up a mountain just to see the stars. I want to sit outside on the hill beside my apartment and practice the ukulele. I find myself ambitiously dreaming about books I will read, letters I will write, recipes I will try. I formulate new 5-year plans that all include some road to fame... or at least to Ellen. It's when I do my best thinking. 

Which is really a pity, because I know every moment I spend with you will only make me more exhausted the next morning at work. But as I only have so many summer nights left...
I think I've already chosen to make sure I'm living in them. 

So I'll meet you again tonight. Same time, same place. Deal?


1 comment:

  1. I am also in complete love with 9 pm. Unfortunately our relationship only lasts three months out of the year.