I know that Memorial day is the unofficial start of summer, but it's quite literally the day I cried uncle to Baltimore. Something about an extra hour of traffic, non-functional air conditioning, a 94 degree apartment and miserable felines, and watching my incredibly straight (the straightest caucasian hair around) hair downright curl that just caused a SNAP! kind of moment. But it's okay now. Mostly. The air is more or less functioning now, making for two very relieved beasties. My hair's still curling in an unlovely frizzy way, which is a rather unpleasant novelty. But. Hello summer. Guess you're here to hag out until about October. Try to not make a mess.
In other news, meh. Still working through that stealthy second-third wave of major grief. It's, well, rough. The rest of the world has moved on, but I'm sort of stuck in the horse latitudes of loss. My bad poetry writing high school self would slap my current self silly for such a crappy metaphor, but if the shoe fits..
It's weird. I intellectually understand that this is going to be the worst year, because every. single. holiday. is the first and rawest experience without my brother or grandmother. Not just holidays, but everything-- first summer, and no Nick to help grill. First Steelers game, and no Grandma to opine on what a bunch of lazy bums they are. And I know that there is not a single damn thing that can be done to mitigate this. But knowing is in some ways worse, because it adds the feeling of helplessness as well as grief.
God, I miss them both.