Fall and I do not get along. At all.
Despite my birthday and a few good memories, despite Halloween and cheapmonster movie DVDs for sale at Target, I hate fall. I hate it right inits damn face. Come the first hint of crispness in the air, the days ofbright sunlight unsoftened by Summer's haze, my life stops being mine.My energy wanes, my outlook darkens and my interests are a little lessinteresting.
People sometimes ask me why this is. How is this possible? Why do Ihate fall so much? Why do I seem to get so 'down' at this time of year?
The answer lies in a simple fact: it's a season of transition.
Time for a little thought experiment. Let's do this together, you andI.
Imagine for a moment that you are eating at a restaurant. On the table before you is a plateful of your favorite meal. It's the stuff you livefor, the stuff you crave all the time, the experience that makes you glad to be alive. It tastes right, it feels right, it is the very definition of right. There is nothing else like it in the world.
You soon notice a presence hovering by you. A waiter. He leans in slowly, and with deliberate motion takes your plate into his hand. "I'm so very, very sorry," he says smugly, "we are no longer serving thisparticular dish. It's being replaced, you see." You watch, fork in hand, as your plate is withdrawn, and a second plate is served. "Here is your new meal. No other option, you see, so sorry."
A cold, stinky pile of poo.
There's a nice dessert with your meal, and a toy, too. But mostlythere's the poo, and it sits there, congealing and stinking in front ofyou.
And while you struggle helplessly to decide which end of this mofo to punch, your fellow diners are looking at him with awe and admiration, and they gasp, "Oh, look at that waiter, dressed in such pretty colors."
Eventually, you'll become numb to the stink. It just kind of happens.
But that waiter?
That waiter is a jerk, and he should be slapped in the face with a flaming shovel.
