Nothing good happens in August. It has long been my opinion that August is the one month the calendar would be better off skipping. If only August could be more like September…there’s so much hope in a September; so many good things are bound to happen as soon as September rolls around: the heat finally mellows, autumn smells are in the air, and the general consensus of the world is that life is good.
Alas, it’s August, and all is not well. August is bleak. By the time August rolls around, the heat is at its peak, but we’re all so sick of it we don’t even have the energy to brag about it like martyrs anymore. In August, school starts, and (though I am a strong supporter of higher education for one and all) I am not going to sucker anyone into believing that I like starting school again. August brings no sight of hope for Autumn to descend, even though it deceivingly starts with the same lovely letter amalgam–that’s so typical of August: sneaky. It’s true—August sneaks up on the world like the devil himself sneaks up on the stalwarts. Independence Day parades come and go, and suddenly, August. Sucking the life out the innocent like a dementor from Azkaban, August comes in all its dismal glory. Almost makes me want to curse.