Aimee Mann on repeat.

It is so very summertime. I've been working like a dog lately (when can we retire that phrase? dogs don't do any work), but it's nights like this with the window open, the breeze, some long-craved strawberry ice cream, and silence (Mike's out watching baseball) that I am reminded to slow down and enjoy the opening of everything. I hate being hot; I sweat more than a lady ought to, but something about summer feels like you can't hide anything anymore. You can't just curl up into yourself and forget about the world. It is green, it is on fire, it is beading with sweat along its brow, it is waiting for the next breeze, the next raindrop, the next reprieve. The sun reveals us.