Okay, I admit, that's hyperbole--September is NOT really septic, or even mildly infected. It's just that I always forget what a shock to the system the start of the school year is for me, particularly when I've been trying very hard not to stress out about school during August, which was my plan this summer.

As a result, the ordinary stuff that goes on at the start of every school year (faculty meetings, planning, etc.) seems inordinately complicated, while the actual complications (having only a handful of actors show up for fall play auditions, not to mention having one actor not show up on campus until 6:00 yesterday evening) seem obstacles of Great Wall-ish difficulty.

In that all-consuming light, the pleasant distractions from work that I routinely try to focus on for mental health reasons threaten to become obscured by the glare. A nice long walk by the river (logging the year's first Eastern Wood-Pewee and Yellow-billed Cuckoo en route) vanishes in a puff of photocopying demands. A trip with Kelly to meet our friend Q at the supremely well-set-up Harrisonburg Farmer's market is hard to recall in the light of a significant formatting issue with the play's script. The success of my fantasy football teams in their first games pales to insignificance when I'm wrestling with the suddenly-revealed necessity of swinging home to change clothes in order to be properly dressed for tonight's assembly. Okay, granted, fantasy football is pretty much the definition of "insignificance," but my larger point remains.

In short, dealing with September is a lot like dealing with a septic tank that's topped up to the brim. It may or may not overflow at any given moment, but there's not really a good time to call the plumber, either. It Just. Won't. Stop.

Or maybe there's some other, less scatological metaphor.

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This page contains a single entry by Peter Cashwell published on September 13, 2010 1:53 PM.

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