The worst month.
August is finally ending.
31 days of hell.
August is the Sunday afternoon of months. While Sunday afternoon is when laundry is done and the dread of the future week's work sets upon you, August is an entire month of anticipation of school for the kids, and buying clothes and supplies for same.
It's the month I register for more grad school classes, and try to find funds and books for same.
It's the month we let the yard go brown, because watering it is just futile.
It's the month we have the last chance to go on vacation, but don't, because it's just too damned hot, and we've got to buy school clothes.
If you get a chance to go fishing in August in Texas, your brand-new fishing license expires on the morning of September 1st.
Unless you've been obsessive about watering, the tomatoes stop bearing in August; it's too hot.
The temperature here in August will always reach triple digits and the highest mark of the year, after a long summer that started in May. In truth, it's the fatigue of the enduring oppression of the heat that beats a person down.
There's no holiday in the month of August. Oh, there might be something that appears on a calender under "X Day," but nobody cares; there're no days off. Go endure. Go do it. Go...
"Why don't you just go screw off?" Family fights seem more likely. And why not? The summer and all our plans for it are gone. Wasted. And now there's no point. And you're part of the problem. "You didn't get off your..."
It's really just too hot to go do anything.
And September is a false hope; it's just as hot, but with thunderstorms and all the starting-ups that you have to deal with. There is no hope of redemption until October.
We'll all do better just to accept it, and rail no more against the awfulness of this most despicable twelfth of a year.
But don't despair; this too shall pass.