August is a month I dread. It signals the end of so much that I love and segues into that period of time most aptly summed up as Can't We Do This Later? I include things like getting my wisdom teeth removed and applying to masters programs into that same file. Trust me, I'll get around to it.
Sitting on a patio in August isn't like sitting on a patio in July, because in July you have the buffer of August. August is like playing hockey with no padding, or walking into a dinner with the in laws without a briefing on which one will never like you.
Each year I only work full-time for 4 months in the summer, and I find by the end of it all I'm thinking is Thank God I don't have to do this for longer. All of a sudden August doesn't look so bad, and hey, neither does September because at least I won't have to work. And so, with the persuasive powers of nostalgia on my side I forget how much school hurts.
And then I'm smack dab in the middle of writing an essay on faith healing in early confederate Canada and I remember August, why did I not savour August?
So to sum up this meandering and somewhat incoherent post, I'm deciding to frame things differently this year. I'm looking at you August, and you know what?