Perfect Summer
Perfect summer. Perfection is subjective. Get out. There is no perfect summer.
There are some things I want to accomplish this summer. I want to try to make music electronically. I heard it’s complicated. I don’t really want to follow the labouring steps to actually becoming capable of creating music, I just want to create it. I don’t know. I want to stay at home and go boating. I want to go to restaurants and weird community pancake breakfasts, just to say I did. I need to draw more. I’ve been avoiding that. I want to play my piano. Alone. I want to have dinner plans with my parents’ friends. At my house. Not anywhere else. I don’t want to talk to them, I just want to have them there. I like the company, but I don’t like interacting with the company. What am I saying anymore? I feel like a lemon that has no lemon juice left in it because the year has squeezed it all out of me. That’s the weirdest analogy I have ever made. I want to journal like crazy so I can feel that bittersweet regret in a few years when I read it again. I swear to God, there are like, 50 tiny little Macbeths floating around in my head right now. I can’t wait to stop thinking about Macbeth. That’s something my perfect summer would include, THE ABSENCE OF MACBETH.