This post doesn’t actually have anything to do with the 1993 Counting Crow’s album “August and Everything After.” It’s just a thing that comes to mind whenever I think about the word “August.” Also, I’m listening to the album now because why not?
Yesterday my 16-year-old nephew, Cade, and I argued about the month of August. He said it’s the best month, his favorite, because it’s so hot and there’s no school. I claimed it was the February of summer, which means that it sucks. Really, really bad.
August always sucks. It’s an in-between time I don’t deal with well. My skin doesn’t fit right and I’m vaguely annoyed with everyone and precisely annoying to everyone. Tuesday I was whining to Sister #2 that I didn’t know what to have for CSA Supperclub on Thursday and I dismissed every suggestion she made. She handled my brattiness very well.
I’m not handling it quite so well. I want to ground myself to my bedroom to sleep until I’m in a better mood. Only I can’t sleep. I tried to eat my feelings. I took one bite of everything in the house. It’s all crap. Kind of like August. Can it be September now?