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.