August in New England means kayaking on the lake to blueberry bushes and finding more blueberries than you can eat, so you go back and get your friends and pick wild blueberries until you've got two jars full, and then you all work together to make a gluten-free pie with lots of pistachios in the crust and split the whole thing three ways on the dock at sunset.
It means a lot of skinny dipping. It means taking off all your clothes and going in the water whenever you want to, under cover of darkness and liquor or sober in the morning, and leaping off the dock and not even caring if people see. Because like, yeah my body doesn't look exactly like the bodies of those girls in the media or like those girls that walk around looking like them, but that doesn't mean it isn't perfect.
I feel somewhat like my youth is slipping away. I don't think I'm an adult yet, but I will be one soon. It's nice in some ways. We can drink fancy delicious infused alcohols and make legit food and get everyone home on time, and that's nice, but I don't want us to lose all our spunk.
Summer is for dancing. I danced by myself in the sand at the side of the lake at two in the morning because nobody else would dance with me, and while I was dancing I realized I wasn't okay, in a sneaky sort of dangerous way where I was aware of what I was doing but not thinking it was a problem. It's been a lot, with everything changing and moving back to Divorce City and all. I'd been fooling myself into thinking I was fine, but I wasn't fine. Now that I've realized it I'm working on it. I think I'll be fine again soon.
But by goddess, fine or not, I'm going to be free, and I'm going to live, and live free, and live as free and as close to myself as I possibly can.
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