Cry uncle

August: I concede defeat. You win.

If you asked me, I would say that I hated winter more than any time of year. But in reality if I were paying attention I'd realize August was the lowest point. I spent last August basically lying on the couch with migraines for the whole month. The year before that it was lady-part-problems. I spent a few previous Augusts lying on the same couch sick with stomach problems. This year it looks to be a reprise of the lady-part-problems.

It's not even that hot this year, so although I hate the weather, I guess that's not it. I don't know if it's the shortening days playing some kind of primeval hormonal havoc, my body crying out in protest at never getting a summer vacation longer than a long weekend, or what.

Whatever it is, I am not fighting it anymore. I will not bother feeling bad about not going to the gym. I will not resist the urge to take the pugs to an outdoor restaurant on a weekday evening and have for dinner a margarita and spinach-cheese dip, followed by a piece of cake covered in whipped cream from Whole Foods. I will not expect to finish any major projects, start any new ventures, or make any life decisions. I give up. Ambition, plans, and goals, see you in September.