September

It's the beginning of September. For many of you it just means that you're back at school, or that summer is over, or even yet that the holidays are coming (which some of you actually look forward to). For me September is the dreaded month for all of the above given reasons, and because it means the imminent approach of my birthday...

Apparently it might be a genetic thing. I share the same anxiety my great-aunt did about turning one year older, although not to the same extreme. The woman used to close the curtains, lie in bed and cry for the whole day, we could not even call her to wish her a happy birthday less we wanted to be perceived as evil people.

And so I've told myself numerous times about the whole "getting older-getting better" thing, but no, I still don't buy it. So OK, it's nature and it's all in your head, blah blah blah, well my head is still young, it's the damn years that won't stay with it! I mean the body looks different — and don't try to fool me, it doesn't look better—. It also feels different: you have the same aches and pains that your mother had (and you made fun of), wrinkles you thought you were impermeable to, the hair changes, the eyesight changes, your memory is not the same... seriously, where is the "better" in that? So you're wiser, well you better be! if you don't learn anything from time, what the hell will you learn from?

Nadir, for the past decade, braces himself when my birthday nears. His sweet, non-confrontational wife (or girlfriend at the time) goes from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. I have no patience, everything is an affront to my well being. Even my dog died in September, Fine,eons ago, but I still remember it because it was... well, in September.

So, like I said, I hate this month. I wake up in a bad mood and go to bed in a bad mood. It's like going through PMS for 30 straight days.
Feel sorry for my poor husband, I'm going to turn 39 and this pressure cooker is about to pop (not really, but I also have a tendency to become over-dramatic).