2014-08-04 - 11:52 p.m.

August is the hardest month. A month of Sunday Night Feelings for me, as AH put it tonight when I was moaning and glass-half-fulling. A month of dusty plants, spiders everywhere, ants invading your pantry and the front stoop and anywhere they can get their ant mitts on. Of getting back into schoolwork and curriculum planning and working on rusty French and wishing I could be reading a book guilt-free. August is parched dirt and weeds and overblown tomatoes and a garden I dont want to plant anything in but have to because it looks so terrible. August is fruit flies and dust bunnies. August is my terrible summer wardrobe that never flatters. August is cracked and dirty feet. Cars sticky from mysterious tree sap.
August is like the New Year for me, when I take stock and find myself lacking. August is my birthday and that is no longer fun. August is finishing up dental work and finding a new family doctor and the ugliest flowers and the hot dusty exhale of summer into the new school year. It is ordering backpacks and school supplies and wardrobe shifts. August means no more trips. August's birthstone is peridot which is a crappy mean nothing green precious stone. My August birthsign is Virgo which is the jerkiest of the Zodiac. August has an echo of Augustus Gloop, of Caesar Augustus, of gusts of wind, of stuffed shirts.
August is the cruelest month.


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