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.