July! July!*

Born smack-dab in the middle of the middle month of summer, I'm always saddened by the passage of time as July turns into August. I spend all summer looking forward to my birthday, and all summer after lamenting its passage. In TheresaLand, summer is composed of June, July, August; fall, September, October, November; winter, December, January, February; and spring, March, April, May. No matter that summer doesn't officially begin till mid-June: it's summer in my book, and will forevermore remain so.

I remarked upon my sadness last night to my friend Sam L., a September baby. For her, September is still very much summer. Funny how one's birthday affects one's seasonal outlook, innit? I'm curious about other borderline birthdays: does anyone else think their birthday inhabits a season no one else would agree with?

And finally, the asterisk refers to my obsession with my birthday. Searching for "July" yielded the title song above, composed by the Decembrists. Go, my little children, go and download it. I'm listening to it as I write.