Internal Summer!!!!!!

My most recent life (I've had three so far) began on an ice cream truck. My sometimes friend at the time, Rachel, had been driving the thing all around the city and Brooklyn to support her addiction to sweet tea, cigarettes, and leg tattoos. Every Sunday she would park the truck on the corner of Bedford and North 7th, blasting Dashboard Confessional, while I enjoyed my cone of choice in the front seat. 

I guess you could say the Ice cream truck was my happy place, as in the place I go when winter's chill wears me down bone to brain, and the thought of one more second of snow, sleet, or long-johns make every square-inch of my body scream. If you catch me staring off, half-smile on my face, chances are I'm on that truck, soaking up sun through a bug-splattered window, getting high on the fumes of pure vanilla swirled with smoke and gasoline. In fact, I'm there right now as I write this, leaving my body behind in my drafty Brooklyn apartment, wearing no less than three pairs of socks. 

There hasn't before or since been a moment more supremely satisfying than those days spent on that stupid truck. It seemed as though nothing could bother us while we on the truck—we were the empresses of ice cream, the dispatchers of cool, and little else mattered. It was during these moments that our thankless office jobs seemed to melt away along with the spoonfuls of strawberry, Earl grey, and hazelnut shoved into the mouths of tourists, local shop owns, and friends alike. Not even the indecisive middle-aged women who insisted upon trying every flavor twice, or their bratty kids who refused to eat their mint chip because it wasn't green could interfere in our internal summer bliss. 

Summertime is nothing short of magical. As we sweat the days away, kindness and positivity seems to seep from our pores too. Everything seems within our grasp; the walk to the grocery store can't be long enough and we will do anything in our power just to spend one more second outdoors, even if it means making the seven-mile trek from Midtown Manhattan to Greenpoint over the Williamsburg Bridge. 

Being March 1st and all, we still have an entire season to endure before we can even think about breaking out the swim suits and Saves The Day-packed playlists. I was inspired to sit down and write this love letter to summer because, frankly, its all I can think about lately. It's not just the warm weather that I crave, it is also the freedom and the hopefulness that comes along with it that waiting around for summer like a lover that just won't call.