End of Summer

I can't really shake this sadness, or a feeling of being permeated by failure. I usually love the bittersweet moments of the end of summer, the scattering of red leaves, the cooler air in the evenings, the clear grey light that heralds the coming darkness. But this year, having made the inventory of accumulated 'stuff', discarding and selling off (at a loss) what possessions I have, keeping what appeared to be 'essentials', I feel eerily ready to throw out a lot of the things I've been holding on to. The biggest piece of baggage shows itself as pain, and a willingness to put up with suffering. Duty calls, yes, but does it need to beat me up - and leave marks?

I'm trying to do the right thing, no hasty decisions, nothing that could be construed as irresponsibility, but damn, I'm struggling. When does the responsibility to myself kick in? Do I need to have it written down in front of me? I wish I knew how to let go. I'm apprehensive about the future, and I'm heading for it with luggage.

Meanwhile, all these nagging little doubts are pouring into my brain. Should I stay? Should I drink more tea? Am I a bad person heading for a sticky end if I don't wear sunscreen? Why do women's blogs bore me, when I should be embracing my inner Oprah and cashing in on the general malcontent?

It's my last day of proper summer holiday, and I wish I was enjoying it more. Will I be happier when I'm back to having no time to breathe, and buying school shoes and groceries and yelling at this and that?

Where am I? Sometimes I catch glimpses.