Summer is coming to an end. You can see the signs of it everywhere.
This week, my mother told my sister that she must begin sleeping in her own bed again. On weekends and during vacations, Thomas and Pie prefer to sleep downstairs, where they spend late nights eating and playing on the pull-out couch in our basement living room before passing out with the television on at around one in the morning.
Now, in preparation for the coming term, our parents have decreed that Pie, who's about to start first grade, must adopt more conventional quarters and a more reasonable bedtime.
Thomas begins his first day of high school on August 26th, a Monday. I started the same journey on which he's about to embark on August 26, 2002, nearly seven years ago. It's incredible to me that it's been so long, and also that my little brother has now reached that stage of his life.
As of this Wednesday, Thomas will be what I was just three years ago: a high school student.
My own first day is one week from now, Monday, August 31st. If I had housing I'd be ecstatic. As it is, I'm mostly just apprehensive about housing, but eager to start my classes anyway.
The weather itself seems to be preparing.
Today I walked outside and was shocked to find that it was only 75°F. In this part of the country we're not used to such mild temperatures at so early a point in the year.
After a summer of scorching suns, of 90°F+ heat that was so intense it literally weighed on your head when you walked outside, the air today felt tepid, weak, like a watered-down drink. I keep looking for the substance in it and can't find it.
I hope this means an early Fall, an actual Fall, and a harsh winter, but I doubt it will actually happen.
I keep dreaming of blizzards and snowdrifts and hot cider in October, but I'm living in the wrong region for that. I suppose one day I'll just have to go all the way and move to the North, a region I know little about but am fascinated with nonetheless.
You never know; maybe there are more opportunities for writers up there.