I EXIST for October, and here we are, a week before it ends. Didn't we just get started? Time, you are a real dickhead.
To know me is to know that from now until about January 2nd is my favorite time of year. It feels magical to me, infused with a sense of almost tangible satisfaction and an anticipatory pre-euphoria at all times. My genetic makeup is 40% spiked hot cider and twinkle lights. If the air can't be described as craaaasssp, why breathe? My other hair is a beanie. If I don't come home at 6:30 to full dark and the light at my front door ablaze in welcome, shouldn't I just hang it up and move to Denmark? You get the point (incidentally, you can purchase my line of slogan pillows/tees/mugs/assorted gewgaws near the cash register at your local Marshall's). I have a heart-on for late fall through the Judeo-Christian-Pagan winter holidays, and every year I lament the insanely quick passage of this period of time-- particularly when that January-March stretch is an endless slushy slog in comparison.
That depressing bit, the knowledge of the inevitable downturn that follows the joyous bit, is always there, lurking over the shoulder of the golden moments and you know what? I wouldn't even recognize this time of year if that were not part of the experience. I'm the sicko who revels in that feeling. You're not one bit surprised to hear that, are you? I am here for every shred of the tension between the elements, the spiritual push and pull.
I get why so many people can't help slunking into the blues right now, honestly I do, but this is when I seem to truly come alive. If you see me and I'm in a really great mood and you want to smack me, I get that too. I know everything that's coming. I know what the first falling leave heralds. I'm all in for it anyway. And that's, uh, well that's all I have to say today.
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