Winter Me vs Summer Me

oddly... some of my stories were set in summer and written in winter... now the warmer weather is actually here i am struggling to write the summer scenes in a new story.

as if the memory is so much better than reality. which it is.
 
I don't get to have a winter since I moved to where I am now. The days get shorter, but aside from that the legislature has banned winter to support the tourist trade.

The seasons here are: summer, barren uninhabitable alien wasteland planet, second summer, extended fall.
 
Winter me drinks beer because it's cold out and what else am I going to do? Summer me drinks beer because it's nice out and it's really fun to drink outside.
 
I don't get to have a winter since I moved to where I am now. The days get shorter, but aside from that the legislature has banned winter to support the tourist trade.

The seasons here are: summer, barren uninhabitable alien wasteland planet, second summer, extended fall.
Sounds much better than where I live, where it's eight months of autumn, a month of sunshine, two months of rain, then another month of sunshine before returning to autumn.
 
We get about ten months worth of November followed by a few weeks of rain and mosquitoes.
 
Winter menus all about hunkering down trying harder and making things WORK…

Summer me is ‘get me the hell out of this reality and into something I want’
 
In America's Taint, where I currently reside, we have fourteen non-consecutive days of winter each year, by which we mean sandals are inadequate footwear. Spring is marked by flies and pollen thick enough to be a money shot. Then we have pre-summer, followed by early summer, and then classic summer, high summer, humid summer, damned summer, more summer, false autumn, return of summer, no-for-real-this-time-it's-autumn, summer's revenge, about two weeks of legitimate autumn, then a preview of next year's summer model, and then a few months of mostly autumn but with those random winter days sprinkled in (plus a few days of zombie summer).
 
One of my best friends moved to Australia, and began complaining when winter approached. "It's only 25 degrees Celsius, instead of 35!"

I immediately thought of Keats: "Saint Agnes' Eve - ah, bitter chill it was!"
 
You'll have to narrow that down more. That could be anywhere.
Not anywhere. By definition, it precludes finding me in either America's Anus or America's Genitalia.

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In America's Taint, where I currently reside, we have fourteen non-consecutive days of winter each year, by which we mean sandals are inadequate footwear. Spring is marked by flies and pollen thick enough to be a money shot. Then we have pre-summer, followed by early summer, and then classic summer, high summer, humid summer, damned summer, more summer, false autumn, return of summer, no-for-real-this-time-it's-autumn, summer's revenge, about two weeks of legitimate autumn, then a preview of next year's summer model, and then a few months of mostly autumn but with those random winter days sprinkled in (plus a few days of zombie summer).
Sounds perfect, except the winter parts. I wouldn't mind being inside America's pussy, either.
 
In the summer, the end doors and windows on the subway cars would be left open for ventilation. That wasn't too bad above ground, but in the tunnels the noise was intense. I'm sure I lost part of my hearing from that. Now, with air conditioning, the heat has moved out of the cars but the stations are warmer than ever.

https://www.reddit.com/media?url=https://preview.redd.it/nyc-subway-in-the-1970s-v0-1b4zxfojsdy91.jpg?width=1080&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=aba494d9af6e79d215e02b5a1e463118ceb9c0bb
 
Summer me drank too much "scrumpy" cider, whiskey, rum and vermouth today. Winter me would have stuck to whiskey
 
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