August always wears on me. Pulls me down, flattens me out. It's the time of year when I feel like there is nothing ahead of me. Nothing to look forward to. Everything I do is because I have to, not because I want to.
The kids are bored and anxious, hovering between dread and excitement about school starting next year.
I want to crawl into bed, pull the cool sheets up to my chin and wake up sometime in October when the cool, perfect weather breeds optimism.
I feel like I should be doing something right now. Something big. Something life-changing. Instead I'm pushing myself just to check the mundane things off my list -- laundry, dishes, cooking. I'm fighting that feeling that life is slipping by and when the kids are gone there will be nothing left. Like I lost myself.
Maybe that's what happens to me in August. Maybe the heat presses it out of me. It's when I wonder how I got here. To Georgia. In this house. This life. How I was so unfocused and is it to late to find my way now?
I guess not. It's just right now. I'm realizing I still don't know where I'm trying to go.