Tomorrow is the last day of August and that means, in my mind, the last day of summer. Nevermind your technicalities, that fall doesn’t officially start until September 21. For me, fall starts as soon as the calendar rolls from August over to September.
I feel as if a giant weight is being lifted from my shoulders.
Although I always look forward to summer, and the many things I’m going to get out and do, by the time the full force of summer hits I feel bogged down, exhausted, and totally lost. It’s weird, but I think I have some kind of ‘reverse seasonal depression’. I can’t figure out why but every summer it hits me – hopelessness, loss, not caring. In the winter I get in a bit of a rut, sure, but in a different way – it’s more like I don’t want to do anything but stay cozy in the house and watch crime dramas and knit. I want to hibernate, and I'm quite happy to do it. But in the summer I don’t even want to do that. In the summer I desperately want to not even exist - if only for 2 months.
But as September rolls back in, I feel myself coming back to life. I start thinking about projects again, and hobbies and friends and things to do. I’ve been thinking about Food Not Fuss again, and another blog project I have in the back of my mind. I’ve been thinking of fun things to do, like taking my camera out to High Park or buying a bike and exploring the bike trails. (Normal people usually get excited about this stuff in the summer, but apparently not I.) I think about cute sweaters and tights and finding the perfect brown leather handbag. I think about pumpkin spice lattes, and my favourite pumpkin pasta, and eating pumpkin oatmeal in the mornings. Life seems okay again – not just bearable, but actually worth doing.
Shaun and I are heading to The Keg tomorrow night, because it’s our anniversary. And although I’ll be celebrating four (amazing) years with him, part of me will also be toasting to the end of summer. So long and good riddance.