I have been in a bit of a blog stupor lately. Nothing has come naturally. I’ve felt both off-kilter and disorientated. Today I realized the problem; it’s not me, it’s just the balance of nature is totally screwed up.
Take, for example, this month, August. August is the bane of my existence. It is the month of least resistance and of total abject horror. All year long I think, "And then there’s August." It’s like the month that was sent to balance out the glory of every other month. August is my red-headed step-child. Only I’m not beating August, it’s beating ME. I never knew there were other August-haters out there until I started blogging. I realized, of course, that odds are (1 in 12) that someone else will hate August, I’m so glad this was all confirmed to me last year.
What’s wrong with August? Uhm EVERYTHING. First of all, I’m not that keen on summer to begin with, some of it is ok, but then it can just turn on you so fast. August is the bully you thought was a scary, but a little cool, so sometimes you’d hang in his posse, and then, one day, August turns around and socks you. August is summer kicking you in the face for liking it (August might need to attend Al-Anon.) The sun, once your warm companion, rages in the high heat. The asphalt melts and runs, your geraniums just give up. Well, I don’t have geraniums, but if I did, they’d totally give up, probably because I’d forget to water them—who wants to go outside in this heat? It’s regularly 105 degrees in August; it’s flipping you off.
Now I know why I’m in a stupor. It’s August. However, this August has been…grumble…delightful. It was 85 degrees. It’s been getting down to the 60s at night. It’s been stormy (some might say too stormy, in which case I’d say MOVE.) It’s like nature has up and decided to be agreeable, and I don't cotton to the sound of that.
When my future sister-in-law from Wisconsin told us that the bridesmaids for her upcoming August wedding would be wearing floor-length red satin formals, I thought she was crazy! “Have you, uhm, ever been here in August? It’s, uh, really hot.” “I know,” she said, “But August is practically Fall.” Practically Fall? August is the torture for the reward that is Fall. But now, I think she might be right. It’s been cool and delicious. This August has been a cucumber salad with fresh dill; miso soup on a rainy day; gazpacho on a dappled terrace.
I’m not sure what to make of it all. It’s like my raison d’être has been upended. If I can’t hate August, who am I? This whole thing has given me an existential crisis.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Posted by Carina at 8/06/2006 12:44:00 AM