(Yes. I have already skipped a day. I’m doing great at this whole challenge thing.)
While we are still in this weird winter with its spring-like interruptions, I’m already dreaming of summer.
Maybe I’m hoping I’ll be out of whatever shitty mood I’m currently in by then.
I keep thinking about the time I went to the pool last summer. Did a little lounging, a little eating, a little reading. All these little things I love so much that feed my soul.
I swear, no food screams summertime to me more than franks and fries. A lifetime of barbecues and summers spent at Coney Island has conditioned me to crave these things whenever I’m out in the sun. (Also, lemonade. SO GOOD. SO TART.)
I finished this book months ago, but it has stuck with me. I go back to it much like I do with Cheryl Strayed’s Tiny Beautiful Things.
And then there’s me, blissfully chill and drowsy. (Confession: I inserted and deleted this picture, but I’m putting it back because my skin may look blotchy but dammit, I felt really good in this moment. Woo, insecurity! *throws confetti*)
I need to be near water. I need to be surrounded by warmth and sunshine. Summer is what, three months away? No sweat.