If I had a way to count the number of barbecues I have missed this summer, I am not sure if I would use it.

They would be innumerable. Insurmountable.

And I am not sure why I would even attempt it.

We’re it not for the pandemic.

I just want to nap all of the time. Except for when I need to sleep. When I have nothing left but weariness, my body or maybe my spirit seem to rebel against it.

So I try to count the barbecues I may have missed. It’s a fruitless endeavor. Which is fine because I probably eat too much fruit.

But I’m sure that’s not why I put on 20 pounds the other day.

Though it could have been a factor.

It’s strange. To suddenly love summer, the season I hate the most. But now I love it and I am sad that it is about to go out. When it leaves, where will that leave me?

It’s too much for one person to contemplate.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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