...took me out for lunch and dessert yesterday. Because my very closest friend took me out on Friday, I had to spend almost the entirety of Saturday recuperating from one and resting for the next, but in each instance, it was completely worth it. (And for most of the summer, it took two to three days to heal between outings, so the 24 hour cushion, odd as it sounds to the uninitiated, is a huge improvement.)
As oft-noted, I know that out of the seven billion persons currently inhabiting the planet, I have one of the very best lives. Still, I am not at all sorry to see this summer end: Memorial Day weekend I, of course, developed a particularly acute case of shingles that proceeded to masticate the season's remainder; my brother had an emergency appendectomy shortly thereafter; my beloved cousin became excruciatingly ill before giving birth prematurely; my massively intelligent and ridiculously super-cute alpha male bunny, Henry, died; my brother had emergency back surgery for two ruptured discs; and my mom was rushed to the emergency room with what initially but falsely (repeat: falsely) appeared to be cardiac arrest.
And as all of us know and keep reiterating: we're very lucky. We're still here (with the exception of Henry, who was a rabbit and not a person, though that is a distinction I acknowledge mostly to preempt a one-way ticket to a group home) and everyone knows families who weren't so fortunate. Each of us has health insurance and family and friends who love us deeply and vice versa and all of us got each other through things emotionally and practically.
That said, if Summer '09 were a person, I would go Titus Andronicus on its ass and bake it in a pie and feed it to its loved ones. Fuck you, Summer '09. Fuck you with a hammer. Don't let the door hit you on your way out.