Summer is officially over (despite the fact that today’s high was 76°F and I went out in shorts and flip-flops) and I can’t help but wonder where all the time went. Of course, I don’t know if it’s an artifact of getting old, but it also seems like it’s about a decade since it was June. (Yeah, I’ve been noticing this strange paradox ever since I started residency. The recent past seems simultaneously like it was just yesterday, and like it was 100 years ago. Go figure.)

And then there is my growing phobia of September.

Sure, maybe it’s logical. There was, after all, the trauma of September 11 five years ago, but it really goes much deeper than that. September was the time of year that I broke up with Grace¹ in a rather cataclysmic fashion (mostly related to the fact that she had slept with some other dude.) It was also the time of year that I told Cara¹ how I felt about her, and ended up leaving it at that, once and forever. September was the part of the year when I finally came home from college in defeat, with all my plans for the future in disarray. It was also the time of the year when I found myself completely marooned out in the middle of nowhere, without anyone around to celebrate my 23rd birthday with (by far the worst birthday ever.)

I continue to be fearful of the future.