Summer

Twenty-two minutes after the alarm rings, I raise the blinds and squint at the sky. Sometimes it’s thick and grey, and sometimes it’s the softest blue in the sky gamut. Every time though, it’s evidence that Beloit is a blundering baby, swinging between moods and refusing to match the previous night’s forecast. And every time I grind my teeth because those twenty-two minutes of a "perfectly allowable" snooze should have been just ten. The water is cold and the shower is quick, and after a gulp of chocolate cereal, I’m scrambling to keep up with Sukanya on our way to the office.