I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s nothing major, nothing really pressing, and yet everything seems a little off. It’s as if my life is rotated like 10 degrees to the West, with everything being almost, but not quite. Weird, actually.

There’s nothing really wrong, but not everything seems right. My work is, well, work; my love life is, well, what it is, and besides the daily workouts at Bikini Boot Camp, I’m just bumbling along like I always do (with MUCH tighter calves and great delts, I must add!) but things seem different.

While nowhere near full-fledged Dysthymia, I’d go so far to say that I’m a bit irritable, a bit melancholy, a bit blah. Perhaps it’s just post-birthday syndrome, but I’m not sure. It’s the Summer of my Discontent.

And I don’t like it one bit.

Summer should be a happy time! Full of ice cream (can’t eat it on my ‘regimen’), picnics (I WILL be at Screen on the Green this Thursday, come hell or high water!), days lounging at the pool (haven’t done this yet) and fruity summer drinks (ok, have done that one…). I look to summer as the idyllic time to relax, to get myself back in check, to let my hair down a bit and to just be – for lack of a better or less cheezy word – happy-go-lucky. Instead, I feel a weight on my mind and my heart, a pressure there that’s causing me to wonder when I’m going to come up for air. I feel too often caught in the very strings that seem to dictate my life, wanting to rebel against the figurative puppet master that seems to control if and when I do something, the very strings that get in the way of what I really want to do, what I really want to say.

Because what I really want to say, is that it’s not fair.