I think I may hate summer.

-

I suppose I ought to contextualise that remark...

Summer does various things to me. It gives me hayfever, which for me means thundering headaches, muscle-cramping sneezeing, and occasionally streaming eyes.
Also, if it's too hot at night, I constantly drift in-and-out of nightmares instead of sleeping properly. Not your ordinary mundane run-of-the-mill nightmares either, proper fucking-weird ones.
I can take adavntage of the (exceedingly) rare opportunities to get out of the house, Go Do Stuff. Perhaps even have fun. But if I do, I will invariably find myself suffering the aformentioned symptoms enchanced. Also, there's no-one to talk to. Not that I have anything interesting to say.

Worse still, it hammers my self-esteem into the ground with a mallet when a gentle push is all it should need. I feel like I ought to be chained up in a cellar somewhere, kept out of the public eye, lest I disturb the young and the mentally infirm.
Then the Envy kicks in, too, and I feel even worse.

Although, I quite like the idea of summer. Sunshine and blue skies and picknics and walking in the countryside and beaches and sandals and suchlike, and clearly it treats other people well, but it fucks me over every godsdamn time.

-Every- time.

If you're still reading this, wow, you must be more bored than I am. Sorry to have occupied your time with this tripe. I hope this minimal glance into my mood has caused no change in your fine self, and that it will be swiftly forgotten, as is for the best.