For some its summer all the time, you know the type, on Saturday mornings dressed in shorts and beach shoes who come climbing across your garden and trample your flowers to bang on your window, imploring you to join them on street.
You cannot compare yourself to these people. Their casual optimism will only make you loathe your life. You must meet them on your own terms. Time will bring you around to them. They'll become the loyal opposition. Like those who keep the party going after the atmosphere has died. Their love of life will become a noble act, rare and exquisite as an exotic bird coming shivering to your window in late September.
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