I hate that today is the last day of summer. My depression over the passing of summer isn't anything new, but listening to Willard Scott ramble through his dentures this morning about falling leaves just about did it for me. My mourning is official.
It could also be that occasionally we all have days when we realize how much we suck at life. First day of Fall? You are my day.
For me the end of summer also signaled the end of my full time employment and the transition into not one, not two, but three part time jobs. Somehow, one can have a bachelor's degree, five years of experience, excellent recommendations, plus three part time jobs and still end up with a random day off in the middle of the week. Call me crazy, but I just wasn't planning for that. Suddenly it becomes imperative to conjure up a full schedule of errands or other inane activities to fill a day. You wouldn't want to look up and realize that at 5:00 in the evening, you've watched Tyra, Wendy Williams, and a mini marathon of Gossip Girl episodes, while eating nothing but a bag of gummi worms and forgetting to brush your teeth. Not that that has ever happened to me.
I began my plan of festivities today by spying on my neighbors. Our new development is full of elderly Asian ladies, including the piano teacher who lives next door with her traveling circus of family members. Seriously, the place needs a revolving door and some midgets and they'd be set. Sometimes I get to listen to her play beautiful classical music while I fold laundry, but more often I get to listen to little children banging out sour notes with the occasionally loud thump. I like to imagine that it's the old woman, whacking the backs of their hands with a ruler. I never hear them crying though.
I was minding my own business, "reading a book" by the window, when I heard it. Instead of music, it was screaming. Such loud, painful howling I thought the kid had to be dying. At the very least he had to be hemorrhaging from some orifice or other. But no, turns out he was just being a little asshole. Piano lady was pushing the toddler in a stroller through the parking lot while he thrashed violently back and forth, yanking on his own hair. She ignored him completely, which makes me love her all the more. Now I know she's a sadist.
I also spied on our cutesy love dove girl, who lives across the lot with her man candy. I have never met these people, to be fair, but I hate them. They are about our age, and spend every weekend washing their matching CRV's, she with her glistening, chestnut locks and cute butt, he with his shaggy Kings of Leon haircut and soccer calves. They laugh and flick water at each other while their gorgeous Golden Retriever sits basking in the sunlight. They are probably perfectly nice people with whom we'd totally get along, but I've seen that episode of "How I Met Your Mother" and I'm not into hanging out with neighbors after our incident with the freaks at the last condo (one day I'll break down and share that story, but I'm still having nightmares). And so I watched her through the window while she carried stuff back and forth from the car. She looked like shit: no makeup, messy hair, and an outfit that had clearly been pulled from the hamper. In other words, she looked just like me.
About this time I realized that spying on neighbors wasn't giving me the self esteem boost I was looking for. Maybe working out would, or bathing even. Then I started cleaning out my wallet while shooting hate beams at Rachael Ray on TV, and found my savior. A Kohl's gift card. Hells yes! Best depression fighter? Shop therapy, baby. Gotta go brush my teeth.