Happy New Year…Almost

I am fed up with this infernal sweating. This stickiness is unbearable; it makes me logey. My jeans are crying to be worn with boots and a light sweater. I miss my jackets; I’m tired of shaving my legs every day.  My armpits are raw from having to use battery acid-strength anti-perspirant/deodorant. It’s too damn hot to do anything fun. And the mosquitoes won’t die.  If I spend just 20 minutes outside, my legs are red and welted like a hooker who works the paths of Patterson Park, and my skin is slick and gooey, covered in a sheen of humid air.

 

Summer sucks. Especially summer in its death throes – the sweltering, confused month of September. By now, I need to be cool vis-a-vis natural air. My skin is weathered and tight from the painfully drying effects of too much time spent in air conditioning and the three or four daily showers required to sluice the sweat and gnats off me. I don’t mind that my flowers are dying. I don’t care that I’ll soon be raking leaves. I’m damn thrilled to watch my lawn turn dormant brown. At this point, I won’t even miss tomatoes – I’ve had enough tomatoes. I want some butternut squash.  And clementines, sweet, tangy nuggets of sunshine that don’t make me sweat.

 

If I have to endure the shrill trilling of another damn cicada, I’m going to get a bb gun and start shooting at the trees, hoping to hit the noisy offender. If any ricocheting bb’s happen to take out a few crickets, I’ll consider it a bonus. Bring me the sweetly eerie caw of the crow. She is my sound of Autumn. She sings to the death of the trees and the months of cool, crisp nights that are ideal for deep sleep. She reminds me to fluff the down comforters and pull out the thick socks from the boxes under the beds.

 

And oh, good grief can I please stop drinking my body weight in water to avoid dehydration on the 40-foot walk to my car? I’d like a nice cup of tea. Something I can wrap my hands around and sip delicately, savoring the herbal flavors and slightly burning mouthfeel.  I miss the steamy whistle of my tea kettle.

 

Perhaps what makes these early days of September so utterly loathsome is that they begin a deeply transitionary month – the long-anticipated summer ends, its gild having become tarnished way back in July. The anxiety-filled academic year begins, awash with possibility, structure, and stresses that both wear me down and delightfully stimulate me. Also, beautiful autumn finally rolls in.  This truly is my new start. January will come and go with a toss of confetti and a sip of sparkling wine. But late-September is when the real year begins. Everything is new…schedule, students, classrooms… by the month’s mid-point my routine is established. I then work myself raw until mid-December, break for a while, start over in February, and end for the year in mid-May with vacations on the horizon.

 

The craving for stability and routine brings out the curmudgeonly old lady in me.

 

It’s too damn hot.

 

The bugs are too damn loud.

 

My damn lawn won’t die.

 

If I eat another damn tomato, I’m gonna look like a tomato.

 

Come sweet, Autumn. Come to me like a lover.

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1 Comment

  1. Lauretta Chiarini

     /  September 5, 2011

    This is exactly how I feel now.
    Lets see what we say in the middle of January!!!

    Like

    Reply

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