she's back again. glory, glory!

When I woke up this morning and I realized it was July, my heart did a backflip. The thought itself was like that full-body stretch that feels so good first thing in the morning. You know, when the sun is beaming in through the shades and you don't really have to get out of bed for several more minutes, so you can really just enjoy the comfort without moving. July is a perfect, luxuriously relaxed morning. July is my spirit animal. July is what I wait eleven other months just to get back to. And here she is again. 

It's kind of become a tradition, this tribute to my favorite 31 days of the year:

More July Love!

I can't help it, though. Some people just don't understand my love of sticky thighs and melted ice cream. I try not to fault them, I just can't empathize with their misery. There's something beautiful to me in a time when everything melts. When glasses sweat as they try in vain to keep cool the beverages they contain. It is legitimately dangerous to leave chapstick in your car and you have to take care when reaching for the seat belt. 

Something about the days seem longer in July, like they're swollen, stretching to contain more life, more activity. Sure, I do my fair amount of lazing about in lovely July, but there's plenty of time. I float in rivers and lakes and do my best to burn myself to a crisp. July can stand to let me be lazy, it hugs its days around me and lets me pack more laughter, shouting, howling into every day. We're kindred, this month and I. 

I try to keep a popsicle in my hand for most of July, my teeth and tongue stained pink or blue or purple. I try to groom as sparsely as possible and wear sunglasses constantly. In July I sing the loudest to the music in my car and refuse to dine indoors. 

Some folks aren't fans of a constant layer of sweat keeping them damp. Some don't like how their skin and the skin of anyone deemed worthy of a kiss tastes like salt. I am a fan of both. July is sexy, it is voluptuous and tawdry, and occasionally the best kind of miserable. In the winter I'll go days, weeks, without touching anyone. Not in July. In July I feel pulled to put my skin on the skin of others any time it is possible. I can't help it, I'm magnetized. 

July is the store of good energy that I try to build up as much as possible so that I can survive the winter months. I am like a hibernating grizzly in the winter, July's heat is the sustenance that gets me through to spring. 

July makes it more difficult to be self-conscious. It's so uncomfortably warm at times that it's just not even worth it to try to wear pants or sleeves. But that's perfectly alright, because July also makes everyone look more beautiful. There's a magic in it for me, a sprinkle of pixie dust or a spell that I fall under. I find myself accidentally striking up conversations with strangers and going out of my way to help wherever I can. So, if you need a favor, you've got 31 days of my unabashed delight to come to your service.

I don't need sleep, I don't even really need food. I don't really need anything in this hallowed time. My desires are pretty much limited to hot sunshine and chilled beverages. Sweat and strained muscles. The good kind of tired. July allows me to become easygoing, unfussy. My best self. So now, I'm off to do that. To frolic outside and spread all this joy exploding from my heart.


Thank you, July.