I was going to write a post about the beauty of summer and the changing of the seasons and blah blah blah.
And then I found myself sitting in a shopping center parking lot, eating an entire Little Caesar’s pizza out of the box that was sitting in my passenger seat listening to Bastille ask me “Do you like the person you’ve become?”
So. Here we are.
We’ll get back to the pizza and the other post in a minute. The truth is, I’m currently under some super strict dietary restrictions that expressly forbid pizza. Just, you know, for an idea of where we are at here. And anyway, our story doesn’t begin with the pizza. Not really. It kind of begins with a different pizza. Several pizzas, actually. Seven or eight years ago.
I used to be a delivery driver, once upon a time. It was pretty fun, and probably one of my favorite jobs that I’ve had. I delivered chicken, and while I got to eat a lot of chicken on my shift, we very rarely got much in the way of breaks. The idea was that you could eat on your way to and from deliveries, basically. So one of my favorite things to do was to go through the Little Caesar’s drive through, pick up an entire pepperoni pizza for myself, and stash it in the bottom of my hot bag for deliveries so that it would stay warm. And I ate it.
This used to give me this strange feeling of freedom. I can’t really explain it. Maybe it’s the fact that up until then, pizza was supposed to be something you ate off of plates or with friends, not alone in your car. Except that while everyone else was snacking on drive thru french fries getting colder by the minute, I had a whole damn pizza to myself. And it was wonderful.
Back to the present, May kind of got away from me. It did, it wasn’t like my life spiraled out of control or anything so much as I just had so much stuff to do. I drove over 1,000 miles without ever leaving the state of Wisconsin (Except, I suppose, to hop the border to Illinois to go to Chicago,) I made five different airport trips without leaving the ground, I hiked a mountain, drove into the wilds of a state I still barely know anything about, rode a carousel, and that was mostly over the course of just one week. I was busy, and at some point I realized that I needed to stop and write about all of these things in my blog.
And by the time I realized that, I realized it was summer.
Summer sneaks up on you. It just kind of happens, and before you know it the car windows are down and you’re singing loudly and making plans on a whim. Whim plans aren’t for winter, when the weather is bad and you have places to be. Whim plans are for summer, when the daylight lasts longer and leaving your house is a desire rather than an inconvenience. And it sneaks up on you, and the next thing you know you haven’t posted in a month, or whatever.
I kind of had secretly hoped that by the time summer really hit I would be overseas, or doing something cool, or making plans for concerts. This is one of the first summers in awhile that I haven’t had any advance plans, and it’s kind of eating away at me. I don’t have any travel planned out at all, I don’t have anywhere I need to be. And suddenly it’s already the third day of June and I feel as if I haven’t really done anything summery at all, in spite of last month’s whirlwind of adventures.
On the first of June, I planned to write about summer. To make some plans. I didn’t.
On the second day of June, I had a not so great day that also involved me driving to a restaurant I had loved only to find that it closed at some point within the past year when I wasn’t paying attention.
And today, I decided to make an impulse stop for frozen yogurt on my way back from the library.
And that was closed too.
FroYo-less, Italian meal less, I sat in front of the empty frozen yogurt shop with a pizza in the passenger seat. And I did the one thing I knew that I knew how to do very well: I sat there. And I ate it.
And it was delicious.
And some people stared. I half expect that I could end up on imgur later, look at this fatass who ate an entire pizza in her car in a parking lot ha ha ha but you know what? I earned that fucking pizza. And when faced with the choice of just going home and sitting back at my desk and doing things the ordinary boring as hell way, I decided to enjoy the weather for what it was, listen to some good music, and eat my damn pizza while it was hot thank you very much.
The truth is, I have no idea how the summer is going to go. I’m facing down the possibility of having to go through a couple of medical procedures, which could seriously screw with my plans to save to go abroad, but whatever. I might try to hit up a few gigs at Summerfest again this year, but you know, that’s a whatever too. I found a state park up on Lake Superior that looks gorgeous, so maybe I’ll do that. But ultimately it doesn’t matter, and if those things are gone tomorrow, if there is no more Italian restaurant or no more frozen yogurt place, it’s fine. Because I’ll figure things out, and I’ll move on to the next thing.
Because summer is a state of mind as much as it is a season, and I’m not letting a few hiccups and a few missed blog posts get in my way of enjoying it.
So yes, Bastille. I do like the person I’ve become. Thank you for asking.
And that was a damn good pizza.