I have mentioned a time or two or seven that I don’t like Labor Day.  It has earned the distinction as being my second worst day of the year.  The day is just a melancholy filled day for me.

It wasn’t always so.  I used to declare autumn my favorite season.  The fall air, the changing leaves, even school being back in session stirred some palpable excitement in my tiny bones.  But then I grew older.  I realized I don’t like the cooler air, the colorful leaves are a sign of death, and there is no summer vacation in the real world (hence no new assignment or chapter in the fall).

Now, Labor Day is a signal that the trees are going to become bare (and where I live it takes so long for them to come back to life), the  days are getting shorter (it is already dark by the time I finish my daily walk), and it’s going to get cold (which my tiny bones don’t handle so well).  In short, Labor Day truly is a day of mourning for me.

This Labor Day seemed to take my dislike for it as a challenge and decided to take it up a notch.

• The light went out in my bathroom.  Not the light bulb but the switch.  I now have to smack the wall a few times to get the light to come on. Probably not safe.
• The wash machine threw an attitude and I had to manhandle it a bit to convince it to work.
• I woke up with a stomach bug so I pretty much spent the day on my couch watching Hallmark’s Labor Day Movie Marathon.  All my final summer to-dos went undone.

Well played, Labor Day, well played.