These are the days when everybody wants to be outside except me. These are the days where I tilt my blinds half-closed to keep it cool in my room, where I listen to the birds sing from the privacy of my room. I don’t hate summer. Summer is that one season I’m okay with for a week or two and then I’m ready for it to leave. Summer is a gorgeous thing to look at from behind glass, but I’m a cold-blooded girl and 90+ temperatures and humidity don’t agree with me. These are the days when I miss cold weather and sweaters and cloudy days. I’ve said my piece about disliking Summer; but I should probably mention the things I love about it. I love the birds and the green leaves everywhere. I love that if I stand out on the deck, the wind carries the sound of kids playing at recess. I love the sense of adventure summer brings. I love the rain showers, even the tornado warnings because tornado warnings = pretty awesome storms. These are the days when I tell myself yes, I’ll work out and get that perfect swimsuit body, and then I chuck that idea in the air and say “Whatever I’d rather go write another chapter.” These are the days when I bury my head in books, finishing up the last of my school. These are the days when I’m busy critiquing stories, working on art commissions that are late, getting Monster ready for publishing, soothing unwritten characters, and reading the occasional chapter in Shakespeare. These are the days when I open my window, flop down on my bed, and turn on some of my favorite music to study or draw or write to, or just to sit and think. These are the days that I have a love-hate relationship with; so I think I’ll blow a raspberry at Summer and enjoy it as much as I can while waiting for Autumn (from the air-conditioned indoors).