August

The grass is brown, and the season puts me in the mood to look up, and up, always, for the first dead leaves of the season. Even though it’s just August, it’s the beginning of the end. Maybe I’m just reminded of Alaska, when the leaves were falling in mid-August, when the storms were coming in, when you got to watch it all go, swept away, in just a few short weeks.

Today I bought at least four kinds of cheese.

I laid out in the sun, I thought about August, Alaska, thought about who I used to be before I got sick. Kept wondering, god, who the hell am I now?

In some ways, I was worse then. I wasn’t a nice person. Way worse than now. I’m not sure how much better I am now. But for me, back then, the summer was going to last forever. Things would just keep getting better. You blaze through on the way to somewhere. You keep going. The weather might change, but summer doesn’t end.

Now I don’t really know who I am, or what I do, really. Most of all, I don’t know what I want, and that’s what’s been killing me.

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