julian calendars . . . pshaw

September 30, 2012

It’s been a couple of weeks since my last treatment ended.  Usually, I come here on the heels of the month’s treatment to comment on the noxiousness of the event relative to previous rounds—relative, for that matter, to the noxiousness of any noxious event in my life to date.

But here I am, on the verge of October, having made no comment.  Most likely I am only here now because of an irrational obeisance to Gregorian delineation—as if the up-flip of my 2012 Tolkien calendar (fabulously illustrated by Cor Blok) augurs something beyond the ever-nearing bestowment of a 2013 Tolkien calendar, as if at midnight (hopefully while I’m asleep but most likely during infinite reprisals of some Nicki Minaj chorus or another) there will be a shift in the tectonics of my essential being which will create a cataclysm in the current self thereby Wile.-E.-Coyote-ing these comments I am presently typing if I do not type them today.

Irrational.

Regardless of the reason, I am here to state, for the record and in one uncertain term, that this month’s round suhhh-uh-uhhh-uh-uhhh-uh-uhcked.

Here is a list of things that have sucked more in my days (in ascending order of suckiness):

*Appendicitis

*ACL Reconstruction Physical Therapy

*Seizures

*Brain Surgery

*Infinite reprisals of some Nicki Minaj chorus or another  

Here is a list of times when I’ve been more of a baby:

*When I was a baby

So there you have it—barely under the wire of September.  Just think, tomorrow you can be anything you want to be.  At midnight, the earth itself will be annihilated and will rematerialize in a split-second.  I, for one, am glad October is October because I love October.  September 30^th, meh, November 1^st, okay, but October  . . . that’s what I’m talking about.