The children go back to school on Monday. After the longest summer vacation ever, I can smell it. The sweet scent of quiet tickles my nostrils and makes me giddy with drunken anticipation. Occasionally, I even titter. I want it so bad…and yet I dread it, too.
The fast-paced, tightly scheduled, crisp days of fall are challenging for me. This time of year, the end of summer, blows chunks in a special way. It’s the transition. I love change. I suck at transition. Big time suckage during the transition between summer and fall; warm weather to chilled; happiness to funk.
Funk does not become me, and I’m not talking 1970s R&B, melodic bass line super-groove music. Funk music definitely suits me. Why, back in the day, I was known as Slap Bass D to those who recognized my inner funkitude. But the kind of down-on-life and all those who share life with me kind of funk is definitely unattractive.
Why, the stale nature of this site is evidence of my dispassion. I can’t face tomorrow. I’m living in yesterday, the summer being a card-carrying member of The Past Club. But I know I must make the leap lest I fall pray to the doom of Autumnal Malaise.
I must say my good-byes and move on.
Good-bye beaches and sandcastle subdivisions.
Good-bye days spent poolside with my children.
Good-bye restaurants en route to vacation destinations offering breakfast fare and odd choices of wall art in the Ladies’ Room bound to cause cramping and malodorous gas.
Good-bye water skiing for the first time.
Good-bye tan. I wore you so very well. Soon, I shall wear my socks and scarves by day and my electric blanket by night and count the days until summer and I are reunited. Consider me bitch-slapped into the now. Thanks, me. I needed that.