It’s fall. When I came in from work tonight the air smelled like it. I smile at the world. I love this season . . . I love September the most, but I love all of fall. One of the trees I pass under on my way to the bus stop in the morning is a maple, and it’s losing its yellow clothing as fast as it can. It’s like the trees are anxious to skinny-dip in the beautiful weather, and it makes me laugh. I love the colors, like everything must remember aliveness as hard as it can in preparation for death.
I’m still here, everyone. I wish my throat would disattach, because it feels like it got severely cat-clawed. The rest of me feels like a cat invaded my space to . . . this morning I sneezed for nearly 10 minutes straight while trying to brush my teeth, and my eyes are all puffy and red. I hate being gross like this.