I've always been of the mind that the beginning of the New Year should be celebrated on September 1st. Nothing really happens in January, no real transition, and even if something did happen it would just be clumped into that pseudo-enjoyable winter stretch we call the ‘Holidays’.
Things shift in September.
School starts anew.
Old leases expire. people move.
The scenery changes and the tourists evaporate along with all their bad noises.
Even the smell and feel and weight of the air changes.
September is breathing down my neck.
I'll be in a new apartment in a matter of days.
A new elevator.
A different view from a new balcony.
New routes to all the places i usually go unless I decide to be totally different and start going to all new and different places.
I'm even planning on getting a new job.
And a new bed.
And just to be different I’ll call my new bed the Fuck-o-Tron 9000.
My chest cavity is throbbing with all the dust and gristle and noise of another screwball summer. All those Big Plans that started gestating in June/July have been digested and shat and have returned to the Earth and I had absolutely no idea until just this second.
This is what we call the Late August Crunch.
The sweaty optimistic desperation we so badly need.
Until September staggers in and dutifully kicks all the pieces off the board, leaving us with a fistful of dice and enough crazy scams to hopefully carry us through to that first frost.
Lick it up.
Lick it up.
More more more.
(It's only right now.)