I dread August.
What started as a journal process for my kids has turned into a bit of therapy for me, as well. Killing two birds with one stone is always welcomed in my world. In looking further into the ‘therapeutic side’ of my writing, I’m hoping my kids might one day understand me a bit better. Heck, maybe I will understand ‘me’ a bit better which will eventually help them understand me better. A storytelling snowball of sorts. And so it goes….
I will say it again. I dread August.
I despise August.
I hesitate to use the word hate since I typically reserve it for serious, severe issues. Things like heartbreak or death deserve that word. However, August now carries with it each of those for me. So perhaps I do have permission to say that I hate August.
What began decades ago as mild irritation with the month that marks the end of summer has now evolved to include the start of school, beginning of my husband’s busy season and the approach/inevitable arrival of winter. I think winter weather is stupid and should be reserved for polar bears. Those of you cold weather lovers can keep your ski gear where the sun don’t shine. Which happens to be southern Indiana anytime from November through March. (You knew what I meant…… right?!)
Unfortunately, those initial irritants are superseded and August has taken on a life of its own. It is a month that is marred with gripping nostalgia and grief. Regardless of the peaks of summer, I can feel the impending storm of August rumbling in the distance as late July ends. No matter how smooth the previous weeks have gone, the approach of August brings with it sadness. Sweet memories that sometimes seem bitter viewed through the filter of this eight month.
If you enjoyed my previous writings because you found them to be mildly amusing, let me apologize in advance for the next few posts. I make no promises that upcoming stories won’t be sad, sappy or written in a bit of anger. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the Debbie Downer potential. However, I’m guessing it’s impossible they can be completely morose because they will highlight the lives of some truly remarkable people. It is my hope, my desire, my literal prayer that by sharing the joy I’ve experienced through these friends, I will be able to tie some genuine happiness back into a month that I dread.
Writing can be cathartic and it’s cheaper than therapy. So, I will write. And probably cry.
And hopefully laugh and remember and laugh some more.
So, here’s to hating August for the last time.
* I was approximately nine hours into August, trying to build my determination to have a good attitude, when this happened. In case you don’t recognize it, this is the new Dodge Charger used by our state law enforcement. I was two miles from exiting off the highway on a trip to reminisce with old friends when the old ‘blueberries and cherries’ caught up with me.
I abhor you, August.
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