Dear August, Go Fuck Yourself

6 08 2015

August is the cruellest month, breeding
Dullness out of the muggy days, mixing
Boredom and stagnation, stirring
Nothing in the dead air.

– “T.S. Eliot” (though altered, because he was wrong, April is perfectly lovely)

Dear August,

Go fuck yourself. I am over you and your bullshit, and we’ve only just begun our annual grappling match from hell.

I know it’s not your fault that you come at the end of summer. As a kid I was always going stir-crazy by the time you rolled around. June was great – school was out and it was my birthday and summer was just beginning. July was awesome. The dog days of summer and the Fourth of July and homemade ice cream and pool parties and bonfires and chasing lightning bugs and staying up too late. But you. Often too muggy to go outside in the day. Sleeping in has lost its luster and day after day of doing nothing has gotten old. The heat never seems to end and summer has become interminably long.

August, you’ve always bummed me out. I hate heat, especially when it’s muggy. And muggy heat is what you to best. It’s not just boiling; the air is so thick it could drown you. There’s no breeze and nothing moves. All you can do is sit. And wait.

I should never make decisions this time of year. Stupid, stagnant August makes me feel like I’m stagnating. Nothing is moving, I’m not moving, nothing is changing, we aren’t making progress. There’s always been the promise that newness – new classes, new teachers, new friends, new TV shows, new jobs, new weather – is around the corner. But for 31 horrible days we’re trapped. Nothing is happening. Everything is the same. We’re stuck.

It’s easy, during August, to make snap decisions. You’re scared of staying still. Things seem awful, and rather than pushing through or waiting it out, you just want to do something to get out of there. If you’re not careful, you’ll make decisions you regret once September rolls around and you can think clearly again. Once the heavy air becomes crisp and breathable again, things don’t seem so bad. You realize you were making progress and you suddenly see ways to continue moving forward. But if you acted during August, it’s too late. You might have made a mistake.

So, my “dear” August, go fuck yourself. I’m through with you and your mind games. I’ll endure, because I have to. I’ll try to avoid making big decisions until September cools me off a bit. But I’ll leave you with this letter. Fuck you, August. I can’t wait until you’re over.

Advertisements