Why I Resent Summer

I never liked hot weather.

  • When I was a kid, I never really liked summer camp, but the absolute worst was when we had a day at the beach.
  • One of my mantras in my early twenties was, “Hang on baby, September’s coming.”
  • When I got divorced, I surprised both my lawyer and my ex-wife’s lawyer when I proposed that, after Thanksgiving and Christmas, which we would share, I would get to see my son for the cold-weather holidays, and my ex-wife could see him on the hot-weather holidays.
  • To this day, I still celebrate Retro-Rockets Day, the first genuinely cool day in late summer as a harbinger of things to come.

Until a few years ago, I accepted summer as part of the human condition.  More recently, I’ve become resentful with the hot weather, and annoyed with the TV weather reporters who make it seem so wonderful that it’s broiling out.

And now, I understand why.

Up until about 2003, my life slowed down for the summer.   Ultimately, some years after the divorce, my son moved in with me, but spent much of the summer vacation with his mother.  Work slowed down, too: ten years ago, I would commonly take a summertime Monday or Friday off as a vacation day, as everything was under control and there was nothing I urgently needed to do until the next ‘real’ workday.

But not anymore.  In particular, work doesn’t slow down anymore.  Business doesn’t have an off-season.

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