I am currently sitting on my couch drinking a beer at 1.55 in the afternoon. I’m sitting on a couch, drinking a beer, and wearing only my underwear because it is So. Fucking. Hot. Can someone tell the weather man it’s still Spring?
Last night I turned the final pages of All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. It was a really profound read. And the strangest thing kept happening to me…every time I picked it up, and began to read, I had the sudden yearning to write. So much so, that for the first time, I started to write a book review long before I’d finished it.
The urge to write has been building for a few days now. Really, I shouldn’t have ignored it for as long as I did – but life got in the way, as it always does. I’m terribly sorry.
Throughout most of my childhood, I had been told I had an ‘old soul’. I grew up around a lot of adults, had a lot of personal responsibility as a teenager, and (so my mother tells me) took on the challenges of burgeoning adulthood with a maturity far beyond my years. So it’s a little bit ironic, really, that I now quite enjoy partaking in a few more ‘childish’ activities.
It seems as if, almost over night, Spring has sprung. The air is full of the buzzing of bees and the calls of birds, the trees and flowers are looking spectacular, and most importantly – it’s a breezy and balmy 25 degrees! This is honestly my favourite weather.