I'm so sorry, Summer.
I read an article on FastCompany a few months back that explained, with great detail, how people - especially women - are often apologetic to a fault. Saying sorry for otherwise unnoticeable mistakes and blips that no one would care about if we didn't bring attention to them by saying, "Sorry!!"
Well - I'm sorry to break it to you, but this isn't one of those instances. This apology memo constitutes part of a great atonement that I owe. I've done a disservice to you, Summer. I haven't lived up to the societal expectations for a sensational season of sun, sand, and glowing skin. My "summer body" was supposed to be toned, but even that's been put on hold. I was supposed to be traveling to new lands with friends, crashing parties, and experiencing life in the forms of concerts and festivals.
With all of these standards for Summer, I have to ask myself how we got here. Who made the decision to declare Summer the season of letting go and throwing caution to the wind? Why can't we delegate those actions to Winter? (an often dreary, gray season that needs a theoretical facelift, anyway) Honestly, I feel bad and a bit guilty. I'm in my mid-twenties and apparently I'm supposed to be savoring these years. I don't have an excuse for why I haven't been Summer-ing this Summer, and it's a shame. Dear Summer, maybe next year we'll be on better terms. Perhaps I'll be more stable and willing to celebrate your goodness and warmth. I completely dropped the ball, took you for granted, and didn't wear enough sandals this go-round. There's under a month left of your quarterly reign, so technically I still have time to show you some respect. The time I've wasted I'll never get back, but here's to the future.