I get anxious in September.
Years past, it was about school - that delicious nervous planning for the first day of school. I felt the same way when I was a teacher.
By September 2001, I had quit my teaching job. I was miserable there and six months pregnant with Lizzy, to boot. And so I was anxious: about the future, about our finances, about parenthood. How would we survive in Manhattan with a baby and only one income?
I still get anxious in early September. I don't have a lot to say about it anymore, as I think I've written about it at too much length here already. But suffice to say that my neighbors seemed puzzled this morning when I hauled out Old Glory and struggled to string all six feet of her across my front porch.
I watch the skies, and I think I always will.
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