The first of September entered with a rainstorm – all of the night and much of the day. I drove into work through the rain, then drove home through the rain – which usually makes for the saddest sort of bookends. On this day, however, I didn’t mind it – the dismal weather matched the dismal mood as the irrevocable shift toward fall continued unabated. Light lingered in the sky – enough for Andy to eke out a couple of grilled burgers for dinner. On the patio, rain droplets preened and posed on the enormous leaves of the potted banana – this plant always starts out so unpromisingly slight, then somehow unfurls one leaf by one larger leaf at a time, until you have an enormous specimen by the time the move to fall commences. I don’t think I’ll bother overwintering this one. The last time I tried that it made for a rotten mess by the time spring arrived, and it never even came back. We’ll use our limited garage space for the bamboo planters instead – they survive easily, sometimes never losing all of their green leaves. They’re hardier than the banana too, so there’s less need for pampering.
I’m totally over pampering things that can’t be bothered to do their part and grow.
It’s Virgo season, and I feel powerful and entirely out of fucks – a dangerous combination for anyone getting in the way. On the rainy night on which I write this, I hear water on the roof – a soothing sound, ideal for sleeping, even if I’ve had trouble finding slumber lately. The restless turn of summer’s last few screws of its own coffin. It’s all just sleep in the end.
