The only 3 things I don't like about summer

When you live in the Great Lakes region of the U.S. as I do, you spend a good chunk of the year looking forward to summer (which as far as I'm concerned begins today).

We only get four months of truly warm temperatures, so it's a big deal when they finally arrive.

And by the way, referring back to the opening paragraph, I live in Lake County, Ohio, about 3 miles from the southern shore of Lake Erie. Thus, I live in the Great Lakes region and not in the Midwest.

Yes yes, I know we're considered part of the Midwest for purposes of the U.S. Census, but I firmly believe we are more accurately classified as Great Lakers in geography, accent and temperament.

Anyway...

We here spend so much time looking forward to warm summer breezes that we idealize the season to an unrealistic degree. As if summer is the perfect state of being and there is no more desirable plane of human existence.

I'm almost onboard with that perspective except for a few things:

(1) I'm a regular walker. One of those arm-swinging fast walkers, in fact. I'm on the road four and sometimes five mornings a week. In the winter when I get home from a brisk walk and shed my hat, gloves and sweatshirt, it feels good. In the summer, I have nothing to shed at the end of a walk besides my reflective vest, and I sweat. I keep on sweating, even after showering. Doesn't matter if we have our air conditioning on full blast, I'm going to sweat for an hour after a summer morning walk. I don't like that.

(2) Summer means the return of Compost Paul. Compost Paul is the name of the plastic bin we keep on our kitchen counter in the warmer months. It holds food scraps destined for our outdoor compost bin ("Compost Paul" being a slight variation of "Compost Pale"). Compost Paul fills up fast, and quite often I'm the one who fills him up. Which means I need to be the one to carry him out to the bin, empty him, and rinse him out. I dislike this chore, and I consider it a black mark against the whole summer season.

(3) I spend an inordinate chunk of the summer worrying about the end of summer. I'm not kidding. The calendar turns to July 1st and all I can think is, "Summer is already half over. School starts next month. Oh no!" This is insane, and I realize it's the very definition of a me problem. Still, a big black cloud seems to hang over my summers, as if every day is a Sunday and I'm going to back to work the next morning. I may need some therapy.

All the same, welcome back, summer. You were (mostly) missed.