Goodbye summer. Hello fall.

Ladies and gentlemen. Children of all ages. Brothers and sisters. Friends and enemies. Haves and Have-nots. Stupid people and smart people. The old. The young. The fat. The skinny. The somebodys. The nobodys. The six people who read this blog on a consistent basis.

Yesterday was the final day of the summer. No. Really. It was. Yes, I know you thought that particular day was a few weeks ago, the morning you realized that the previous day was the last Monday you were going to have off until Memorial Day. But alas, that’s not true. The first day of autumn began at 12:01 this morning. And it was from that point on, we can now shy away from all social interactions, plans on improving our lives and, most importantly, happiness.

I have a tough time with the fall. But you know that already. It’s just not something I look forward to. I understand an individual’s position when he or she proclaims September through December as “beautiful” or “romantic.” But I just can’t ever bring myself to buy into such a notion.

Think about it: The fall is filled with awfulness. Daylight becomes shorter (so much so, they delete an hour’s worth within the next few weeks!). The weather becomes decidedly colder, no matter where you are. Once beautiful trees or other assorted foliage are reduced to nothingness, left as bare as your soul feels. You feel your pocketbook become lighter as the money for your heating/gas bill has overtaken all “fun” spending. And, most importantly of all, it sets up holidays that always, always, always bring upon loneliness (especially if you happen to work in the media field).

Me? Well, ironically enough, I find myself in a place that I’ve never been while going into autumn. For some reason, I’ve been so determined to work on myself over the course of the last eight or nine months, that I’ve been awaiting this day to promptly hit the ground running. I have high hopes that this could be the first fall I don’t quite literally psychologically stumble myself. This type of seasonal depression has been something I’ve only recently admitted to myself, so maybe now I can battle it with a little more authority than before. Right? Wait. Right?

In any case, as long as this blog continues to exist, and as long as I know there are at least three people reading this each day, then I suppose I can use y’all as a crutch to help carry me through the upcoming months. You don’t mind too much, do you? Good. All comments (even mean comments, mind you) are welcome. Anything to get me through the impending doom fall has always brought me. But this year’s going to be different. Right? Wait, again. Right?!

Step one? Be sure to put this song far, far away so I can’t torture myself by listening periodically while wallowing in self-pity…




Goodness, Train can be so sad when they want to be. And yes, I am fully aware that the credibility meter just took a huge hit.

Sundays. Sad days.

All right. So, I'm not the happiest person you'll ever meet. Those who know me the best know that. That said, though, those individuals also know I have the capabilities of being one of the nicest, smartest, caring-est and fun-est dudes they can come across, and that's why I'm lucky enough to have a larger-than-normal core group of really, really great friends. Sure, I may be a bit too sarcastic or cynical from time to time, but as those aforementioned people can attest to, once you figure out what lies underneath of all that, you can simply giggle it off while knowing who I really am, how much love I have in my heart, or how far I've managed to come in this often-complicated life.

But I have a confession to make. I hate Sundays.

No, but really. I do.

They are just so hard, don't you think? There was a months-long span that I consistently said to the same people every Sunday the following: "If I could just have one good Sunday, that's all. That's all I need. Just one." I've since stopped offering such opinions simply because I know everyone is sick of hearing it.

What's wrong with Sundays? Well, it's the beginning of the week, for one. Nobody can do anything on a Sunday without thinking of what it is he or she has to accomplish within the week ahead (and it's not that there's something wrong with having things to accomplish. It's just the feeling of knowing those things aren't done yet. Impatience plays a key role in this, you know). Secondly, Sundays can be often spent as a day of reflection, whether it be while attending some type of church, recovering from a weekend-enduced hangover, saying goodbye to someone you are only allowed to see on weekends, or making that long drive home from wherever it was you spent the previous couple days forgetting about the normal hustle and bustle a life can offer.

Those reasons shutter in comparison to the biggest emotion Sundays are typically accompanied with: Loneliness. As I tweeted this past weekend (which was, by the way, a pretty clever tweet if you happen to enjoy John Mayer from time to time), I am beginning to realize that while alone-time is essential in one's life, knowing you don't have someone else to share certain moments with can weigh heavily on you. Sure, we all want to believe we aren't effected by the notion of loneliness. But the reality is that too much isolation can bring upon too much (possible) sadness. Even someone as independent, stubborn, selfish and ego-driven as myself can admit that I'd love to have a partner in crime when it comes to simplistic day-to-day idiosyncrasies. And Sundays tend to highlight those moments more than any other days a week may hold. It's like a synonym for depression. Sundays make you want to hold someone more than ever while realizing more intensely than ever that, well, you don't really have anyone to hold.

The only thing worse than Sundays? Sundays in the fall. But we'll get back to that once fall officially arrives. In the meantime, I suggest enjoying the only thing a Sunday is good for - the inspiration behind this song, a song that is, by my calculation, the fourth best song ever written...



Thank God for Mondays, right?