"I can't remember, what went wrong last September, though I'm sure you'd remind me if you had too." -
John Mayer, 'Comfortable'
September was the month when she got cancer. September was the month that he got cancer. It was late August when he got hit by a motorcycle, but the aftermath was in September. It was a September when she left me. It was a September when I left her. Every sentence is about a different person, except for me. I was present for all of those. September is not like any other month. September has a weight to it. You can feel it in the air. You can feel it as you breath. Relationships form and relationships break. In September, you find out who you really are and you find out who you are not. This is the month when you can lose everything and find nothing. The reward you crave is that someone will say it's October. Sometimes October never comes.
The weight is something you can't avoid. The ghosts of September past are here. You can feel it in the air, you can feel it in your stomach. It's why you don't sleep and it's why you don't smile. Your energy is zapped-- you are just floating through the month, desperate not to focus on anything.
In September, the phone rings. Someone is having a scan, somebody is flying somewhere, someone somewhere is doing something. But you wish they'd just avoid all these things and stay in some bunker of safety. Just stay there and wait till September ends, for everybody's sake.
"I had a bad month in September,
October scared the hell out of me.
I got lonely,
But December's where I want to be."
I'm not going to blog for a while. Take it easy.