August

I didn't realize that I hated a month until today. For some reason, with the approach of August in less than 14 hours, I feel a pit in my stomach (true, it could be yesterday's Shake Shack remnants still telling me to f* off.) But more likely, it is because tomorrow is August 1st.

You're obviously wondering why I hate August, like perhaps someone close to me passed away in that month, or something like that. Nope, I hate it for other reasons.

First, my birthday is in early September, so August is the pressure month. All that I set out to accomplish the prior year, and have yet to accomplish, gets squeezed into August. Plus, I have the realization that I am turning another year older.

Also, August is damn hot. And humid. And smelly. And long. By August, the green puddles are in full force, and all the flash flood thunderstorms do nothing to alleviate the stench. All of the summer blockbusters have already hit the theaters by August, and the movie selection thins. My hair in August? Let's not go there. Frankly, August stinks.