"April is the cruelest month..." says T.S. Eliot at the beginning of The Waste Land. I tend to agree with everything T.S. Eliot says out of blind fanboy-dom (an odd thing for a modernist poet?) but I wish to add a footnote. "April is the cruelest month, but September can suck pretty bad too." Perhaps it lacks a certain eloquence.
What's my reasoning? Well since the start of college all those years ago, September has represented that odd purgatory in my day planner, the limbo of my calendar. For the majority of the month, while the rest of the world (okay, the states at least) is starting their routine for an exciting new year, I sit around trying to figure out what to do with myself as I wait for my quarter to start.
A lot of people go home or squeeze in one last exciting adventure. I encourage it, but never really follow suit. Not that I don't want to, I just, say, forget, can't afford to, or simply think that I have just enough things going on to keep me here and sufficiently bored out of my skull.
But no more! Yes, do you hear me internet? Not this mid-late September! I will NOT sit on my patoot and wish I was always somewhere else doing something else! I think I'll read. I think I'll finish my book and start another. I think I'll write. I think I'll expand on my story and churn out something else. I think I'll go to work when I don't really need to; but perhaps bring my book when nothing's going on. I will embrace the peace and quiet! I will nestle in the open days! Perhaps I'll learn how to make something other than (and cheaper than) cheesecake. Perhaps I'll build a robot. Perhaps I'll catch a chipmunk and teach it to paint, or at the very least how to match up to those other chipmunks.
This is not a pity party. This is a call to arms.
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