Everything bad happens in September. There are some good things about this month, but when I think of the most heinous occurrences in my life--either in my backyard or worldwide--the timing is impeccably September-y. For some reason, call it mental self-preservation, I forget about it every year until the month gets going and then, POW, the September curse. I've never considered myself to be superstitious, and I'm not that self-centered as to believe that the universe is out to get me personally, but I can't shake the bad vibes of the ninth month of the year. I have a long list to back this up, and it's studded with gems like my sister dying (1980) to that little matter of planes crashing in New York (2001) to the time when it kept on a-rainin' and the levees done broke (2005). We just found out that our really good friends and their infant were in a scary car crash this weekend. It could have been a much worse thing, of course, as aside from their car being smashed to kingdom come none of them are seriously injured. That's the bottom line. Still, it was awful for them and for many other people who happened to be on the highway when a driver came zooming up the wrong way.
In conclusion, fuck this month. Is it October yet?
Of course I can't leave on such a down note. And I can do lots of things, but skipping a month of the year is out of my skill set so I've got to stick it out and focus on the positive. Having such a cute baby around all the time helps in that respect. I have a rare after-work meeting and the possibility that he'll be in bed when I get home is sort of crushing, but we had some fun time this morning and I'm sure he'll give me a chipper feeding call in the dark wee hours. The point is, even in the Month of Doom the scale is tipped in happiness's favor.
Which brings me to the appropriately named blog du semaine: Bookshelves of Doom. Librarians rule, and Leila is a fierce example.
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