Matters of Interpretation

It’s that time of year again.

It’s been hot. The novelty has worn off. The sense of resolve (“This year it will be different. This year I will be different.”) has worn off, too.

There has been a string of “those days”: the ones when I forgot, until it was after dark, followed by the ones when I thought “I need to get out there” which I meant to do when I got home from wherever I was going but then didn’t, followed by the ones when I thought “I really need to get out there” but it just seemed like too much trouble right now in the middle of whatever else I was doing.

So, for the nth year in a row, I have … the reason I buy chrysanthemums every year.