Dog Days

These, my friends, are the dog days of summer. And I hate them. HATE them.

(I feel like I capitalize the word "hate" a lot on this blog. Hmmm.)

First, there's the weather. It's been in the nineties and insanely humid all week; I can't go outside without cursing. Stepping out the door feels like walking into a gooey wall of tapioca pudding fresh from the stovetop. And the sad thing is, it isn't NEARLY as delicious. Yesterday, my friend Jill and I discussed which month is worse weather-wise: August or February. We agreed that February is worse due mainly to lack of sunlight, but August weather definitely comes in for a close second.

Next, there's the back-to-school situation. At some point back in May I convinced myself that the end of August would never come, that even though I had made definite plans to begin my PhD and continue teaching, these plans were just abstractions, things I could talk about with acquaintances to shallowly impress them but not actually have to DO. Well, school starts in about two weeks and I still can't seem to flip my "this is reality and you should be concerned about it" switch.

Which isn't something that should surprise me: I've always been a terrible procrastinator. Well, actually, it may be more accurate to say that I've always been a FANTASTIC procrastinator, because I always seem to produce my best work at the last minute. However, I'm still consumed with panic each time I procrastinate (which, ironically, probably enables me to do good work). The other day I told Mike, who is also a serial procrastinator, that we should just accept our work habits as they are and stop panicking. But I'm not sure that's really possible.

All this to say that while I'm feeling glib about the coming tasks right now, I will soon feel miserable about them, and the misery will be heightened by my memories of the glibness. And, in thinking about this emotional process, my glibness is being spoiled. Gaaaa.

So there you have it: dog days. A bittersweet gob in the throat, sweat on the brow, and a growing seed of dread in the pit of the stomach. And gone far too soon.