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I dreamed of summer.

There is always the possibility that if I'm too shy to do what I want to in this life,

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that I can do it in the next one. So I could put my dreams and visions of personal confession and self-expression on hold and do the things I'm supposed to do, like the laundry.

But even though I will live again, I will never be this person again, and I feel like I should make the effort to do everything that occurs to me. Maybe I was meant to do some of the things Sonya Tolstoy did in her self-photography in the nineteenth century.

Now Goddess knows taking pictures of myself gets mighty old mighty fast. See, it already did. But I needed to see myself in summer.

This is my favorite time of year. I almost hate it while it's happening because I know it's going to end. The cicadas buzz and the trees sway and all the living things are begging for mercy from the relentless heat.

I hate it for not lasting forever.

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And I got my hair cut, so I wanted to commemorate that too.

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