The Melancholy Of A Fleeting Season

 I have said, since my childhood, that Halloween ends the most abruptly of all the holidays. 

I can't really decide if it's gotten better or worse as I've gotten older. 

It's great that a year-round Halloween community exists, of course, but October and Halloween-time are truly so fleeting. Perhaps the most fleeting things I can think of.

The morning of November 1st comes, and decorations are being packed away, hidden again, as if no one can dare know, beyond the 31 days of October itself, that strange and spooky things are of interest to anyone; that "scary" doesn't always have to be a bad thing.

And for that reason, for how fleeting it truly is, every moment of October truly feels precious.

Every moment of October not spent somehow acknowledging or being immersed in it, seems wasted, criminal. 

Sometimes, during the month of October, I feel like a person who's been told I only have a limited amount of time left to live. And perhaps I do...I've always felt like I die in November and am reborn again at the first signs of Halloween.

Having to spend so much of October at work, or doing any sort of chore, or even just in the temperature region normally associated with July and August, seems like wasting precious time. 

The world is only the way I wish it to be for a very short amount of time. 31 days before it's all hidden again. 31 days before the hustle and bustle of Christmas takes over and makes everyone forget how happy they were just hours before. 

Sometimes I feel like I can never enjoy it enough.

Sometimes I sit at work, jiggling my foot, grinding my teeth, sending silent prayers to the Great Pumpkin himself to make the day move faster so that I can get outside while there are still colorful leaves and healthy pumpkins to be seen. 

Sometimes I sit inside, fidgeting during a spooky movie, peeking out the window, willing the sun to go down so that October feels like autumn again, and not another miserable summer afternoon. We've had about seven months of summer, by now. My seasonal depression can't take much more, but especially now. 

I just want my October.

It's exciting, and sad, at the same time. I can always see the end, even at the very beginning. 

And I know that I can't truly persevere it, no matter how hard I try. 

I can't even have every single moment of it for myself.

Sometimes, even at the best of times, that's the worst feeling of all.