Oh August, how I hate you.
Were it not for the hubris of mortal man, August would never have existed. King Numa Pompilius saw fit to create two new months after December, thus making the Latin Sextilis the eighth month. Julius Caesar saw fit to give it two more days, and Augustus saw fit to name it after himself.
And all that silly confusion could have been avoided if people just stuck to the perfectly sensible pagan calender that went by the seasons their lives revolved around.
Anyway. Whatever cosmic force deemed, through a series of unfortunate coincides, that August would exist, also deemed that it be the bane month of one Iago Flaherty, alias Black Wolf.
August is the month school resumes.
August is the month I lost a great tournament to a broken ankle and biased judges.
August is the month the then-love of my life left me for bigger and better things. No, not that.
And so on.
Perhaps August and I will come to terms, or perhaps we'll have a bloody battle till I die or the calender is re-written again. But this August sees me intensely questioning some of my own personal philosophies, with people I love dearly far away, with schisms and rifts with those I care about sprouting like wildfire.
Oh well. It's another fight. In a way, my prayers are answered: "Lord, let me be anything but bored."
No comments:
Post a Comment