Warm Weather's Rot//October 162nd, 2024

I remember a car ride with my parents. I'm not entirely sure how old I was. Middle school aged, I believe.

My father commented on how, in about a week or so, the clocks would move forward, and it would stay light out later into the evening hours.

I always tried not to really listen to my parents' conversations in the car, or at least not let on that I was. But this time, for some reason, I blurted out in response

"How depressing."

I believe this may have been the first time I ever expressed that out loud.

I've never cared for spring, and especially not summer, even in childhood. Even when I didn't realize I was doing it, I was always searching for Halloween, in everything around me. And what is more reminiscent of Halloween, in the treacherous off-season, than bare trees, dead leaves, and darkness? 

Putting my aversion to warm weather and sunlight aside, spring comes along and breaks the illusion. It's hard to get lost in the memory of trick-or-treating, on an evening bathed in sunlight past your bedtime. Green leaves against a bright blue sky, almost make it hard to remember the colors of autumn. Spring is when the world begins to fight back, against the desire for eternal autumn. It was hard for me then, and hard for me now. When it's sunny and green, and even trying my hardest to create something autumnal becomes difficult. 

And those damn summer people...Stop rushing the seasons, they say...yet here we sit, an hour of our lives lost, our body chemistry altered, so that they can have their longer, brighter, sunnier days, when it's still technically winter. I can't think of a more accurate representation of "rushing the seasons" than literally setting your clocks forward.

Many people think that it's just me trying to sound gloomy, or Addams-Family-esque, but the truth is, this time of year feels depressing and endless for me, more than winter ever could. I can feel the warm-weather rot setting in already. 

The reflections of Halloween are still here. They always are, whether buried beneath three feet of snow or trying to peak out from behind an August afternoon sun, but the mirror is clouding now. Not only do I have to squint my eyes in the sun, but I have to squint harder to see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

November 1st is sad in its way, but I never feel so far away as I do with spring and summer stretched out in front of me. We may have lost an hour in the wait, but it feels like we've gained a more strenuous path. 

(Doll by Mim's Victims on Instagram)

Stay spooky, my friends.