August is the best and worst month of the year.
I used to love August. time for sun and fun and no responsibility. Over the years so much happened that it became necessary to hate it. The hate was fueled by my habit. I’m not sure where one ends and the other begins?
Over the years it became necessary to plan of course. I’ve worked my entire life around my habit, I have the type of job where you work hard for 9 months of the year and enjoy the other 3 months without a care in the world. Summer was always the best time. Over the years my stamina has decreased. Disappearing at half term for a ‘break’, only to come back for another 6 weeks of work with a headache and a severe case of sleep debt. But the summer was still my winner. Weeks at a time of self enduced comatose state. I must have racked up over a fortnight worth of sleep debt each year.
Not anymore. I still have no responsibility. Just. No more habit. Just the one week away and even that will be limited to orange juice and early nights. I don’t mind. What i do mind is the realisation that I finally have to deal with August. Sober.
My aunt died in August. So did my nan. So did Goth boy. So did Loopy. And this year I have nothing to run away to. Nothing to fill the void and fill my mind.
Funnily enough, I’m doing fine. No big meltdown. Lots of plans to see other people and do normal things. Acknowledgement of these facts and participation in general life at the same time have softened the void. I don’t think it’s even a void.
Why did I feel the need to blot out this time? What have I been so scared of for all these years? I don’t even know anymore.
FaerieFalls 