Tomorrow is the beginning of the last real week of summer, although the calendar tells us we have another four weeks to go.
Why can't summer be as long as February, I wonder? The summer days are longer; we don't have to take the time to bundle up each time we go out; no snow shoveling, no making sure the wood fire in the stove doesn't go out (just kidding). Why does it go so fast?
On Friday, I asked my office neighbor, "Wasn't it last Friday yesterday?" That's how the summer weeks fly by.
Time-speed-wise, I feel that life is going like the summer—too fast. I don't have enough time to do all the things I want to. Retire now? Retire later? How to choose? How long will I be healthy? Should my motto be "carpe diem"? ("Seize the day," for those of you whose Latin is even more pathetic than mine.)
One thing is certain, I'll be moaning about how fast the summer went a year from now, that is if my luck holds.