I am hearing everyone singing the praises of autumn and how it is the most glorious season.

Really? I just don’t get it.

I am sitting in front of my light box, trying to stave off the onset of my Seasonal Affective Disorder, sniffling because I was caught in the rain last night – a cold relentless rain, not juicy warm drops of summer rain. I just don’t understand. Getting caught in a sniffles-inducing cold rain is preferable to long evenings on a patio without the need for a hundred layers to keep warm? Itchy wool that prickles the skin is preferable to flimsy floaty light fabrics? Darkness is preferable over light? Surely free wiggly toes prancing through the grass or flitting about in flip flops is more appealing than being stuffed in confining shoes and itchy socks.

Who would rather eat an apple over plump juicy berries? (Other than The Sweetie who is the biggest apple apologist) There is no true comparison, is there? Other than ease of portability can the apple ever rival the mighty berry? Never. Can anyone truly look me in the eye and tell me that fall colours of orange and brown are better than bright refreshing shades of summer green? Please. Orange and brown are seventies basement shag rug colours. Orange makes me look sallow. Besides, those brilliant fall colours only last a short while. Then the leaves fall off the trees and there is nothing but grey soggy darkness. Not so bright and glowy then, is it?

I tried to look on the bright side of fall. I planned on making soup tonight. I did my best, but autumn signifies everything coming to a sad miserable end. How can witnessing everything withering and dying be an uplifting experience?  Party’s over. That is better than summer? Really? Bah.

Why the day was not salvageable:

1. I woke up multiple times with my nose stuffy, unable to breathe. Realized my sinuses have been hurting for months.
2. Hate my hair and I am bored with it. Recognize that I am actually bored with my face.
3. Become convinced that my sinus pain is some rare inoperable sinus tumour and I will lose my nose as punishment for my vanity.
4. Had to witness the CNE in full swing which is always a sad signifier of the end of summer.
5. I am bloated beyond belief. It is not natural for one person to be this bloated. I may be minutes away from an alien bursting from my belly, I am that bloated.
6. Wore a peasant style white blouse that I thought looked cute and billowy to help hide the bloat. Caught a reflection of myself in a window and realized that I look like a deranged pregnant pioneer clown.
7. Had a craving for a burrito although I should have had something healthy instead. It was bland, the lettuce tasted off and most of it fell on my white blouse and the front of my pants so that I looked like a messy deranged clown.
8. All the fruit in Kensington market was too squishy and over ripe.
9. My beloved sunglasses broke. I knew the day would come and had been dreading it. They were big and perfect. Not so big that I looked like an insect or an Olsen twin but they were just right. The arm managed to snap spontaneously in a weird spot. They cannot be saved.
10. Now I will have to squint and add to my ever deepening forehead furrow.
11. Found the perfect flitting-about-the-city sundress at Courage My Love until I realized that the side seams were disintegrating. Put it back on the rack with a heavy heart, my dreams of skipping to a picnic in a sweet vintage sundress dashed.
12. Decided that the only way the day could be saved would be with a pint of chocolate Haagen Das, which is usually the answer to emergencies. Went to the hateful grocery store that is always crowded, the aisles are too narrow and the cashiers always seem to be in training. Discovered that they had every ice cream flavour but chocolate. I don’t want rocky road or Mayan chocolate or chocolate chunk. Why do they have to keep inventing more ice cream with stuff in it that just interferes with its essence. A nut or two in a nut ice cream, fine, I get it. I love pistachio and enjoy some pistachio nuts in my pistachio ice cream. They belong there. I do not need Swiss chocolate covered almonds swirled with toffee, marshmallows and bits of gum in my chocolate ice cream. I don’t want to eat it with a fork and knife.
13. Stomp off in a huff and walk to the next grocery store. They too are out of classic plain chocolate. Why wouldn’t a grocery store carry extra plain chocolate since it is the obviously the most popular flavour? Feel a wrath building within and wish the alien would burst out of my belly now and take out the entire grocery store. Practically frothing at the mouth I grab the Mayan Chocolate, a box of Kraft Dinner and angrily tap my foot in line.
14. On my way home I witness one of those horrible urban cyclists who insist on wearing gas masks while biking to protect their delicate lungs from car exhaust. Just because they can’t handle the fumes do they really need to scare the rest of us by looking like some post apocalyptic Mad Max style eco-zombie?
15. As if I am not disturbed enough, I pass a couple who simultaneously cover their ears against the offending squeak of a passing streetcar. I hate these people as much as I hate the people who cover their ears on the subway. I know it’s not fair to hate these people. They should be allowed to protect their delicate eardrums if they want to, but I hate them anyway.
16. Almost howling with fury I enter the house and close the blinds. Thank goodness they are not those horrible white plastic blinds. I despise those. Just thinking about them sends me into a new fit of anger.
17. Try the Mayan Chocolate ice cream. As I suspected the spice distracts from the pure chocolate flavour. Eat it anyway. Eat the entire box of Kraft Dinner even though I didn’t add enough milk and it is dry and flavourless. Watch alien stomach expand even more.
18. Listen to the weather guy reporting a cold front and rain passing through Ontario. So what else is new this cold and wet summer.
19. Chide myself that if this is the extent of my problems I should really be thanking my lucky stars and be grateful for the amazing life I have.
20. Tell myself to save my “have an attitude of gratitude” pep talks for another day when I feel like listening to cliches.
21. Rub huge belly. Feel bitter and call it a night.

1. Realize that I have to see my accountant and organize my 2008 taxes.
2. Instantly panic.
3. Ask myself as I do every year why I don’t stay on top on my receipts and expenses throughout the year so that the process is less involved and painful.
4. Brew a pot of coffee.
5. Start frenzied search for receipts and papers hidden in various pockets of living quarters.
6. Discover crumpled receipts stuffed in shoe boxes, envelopes,wallet, cracker boxes, make up bags.
7. Vow I will not be this disorganized next year.
8. Gaze longingly out window. Feel grateful that at least it is gloomy outside. Decide this is a good example of pathetic fallacy.
9. Look up definition of pathetic fallacy.
10. Panic about my future and lack of savings, organizational and budgeting skills.
11. Guzzle pot of coffee.
12. Decide I will put myself on a strict grocery budget.
13. Read the Maclean’s article about a foodie who fed himself and his partner for $50 a week, extolling the virtues of picking marrow out of bones. Feel repulsed by image of picking marrow out of bones.
14. Decide The Sweetie and I can only afford to eat cabbage from now on.
15. Surf the net for cabbage recipes.
16. Try to sort through receipts again.
17. Feel anxious and jittery. Blame the coffee.
18. Brew pot of tea.
19. Declare that next year everything will be different and I will have a good organizing system in place.
20. Decide the key to organization would be cute storage boxes.
21. Talk myself out of the cute storage boxes since part of my organization should involve getting rid of stuff, not accumulating more.
22. Call girlfriend to complain about my taxes and my need to de-clutter and budget.
23. Girlfriend reveals her fear that her girlfriends will be eating cat food in their retirement. Tells me I need a financial smackdown.
24. Vow to myself and the universe that I will change.
25. Find unclaimed receipts from 2006 at bottom of cracker box.
26. Get distracted by other piles of random things I have torn from magazines over the years. Read up on sculpting my arms in four weeks and how to make a scarf from old sweaters. Make plans to do both this month.
27. Decide I will not buy a single frivolous thing for the entire month of April.
28. Remember that the One of a Kind Craft Show is coming up in April. Rethink the whole no frivolous purchases plan.
29. Call girlfriend back. Tell her I am not ready for the financial smackdwon just yet.
30. Look at pile of receipts again.
31. Eat bowl of ice cream and frozen Laura Secord Easter cream egg I found in back of freezer.
32. Call accountant. Tell her I need another week to get organized.

It has almost been three weeks since The Incident, and I think I am finally ready to talk about it. Cameron Diaz almost killed me.

It began en route to our beach vacation. The Sweetie casually remarked that Cameron Diaz was sexy because she does guy stuff.  “She just seems like she’d be a lot of fun. She golfs, she watches basketball, she surfs…” His innocent remark was duly noted, as I sat stewing in my tiny airplane seat. What has she got that I haven’t got? Other than fame, gazillions of dollars, legs up to her armpits, a long lanky body, sunny blond hair, fantastic style and natural athletic ability. Other than that we’re practically the same person. I resolved that I too would become a sultry fun tomboy. I’d show The Sweetie, I’d show everybody!

The first day of beach volleyball didn’t go so well. I was afraid of the ball and spent most of the game yelping and ducking, and on the rare occasion that I managed to make ball contact I jammed my thumb and developed bruises on my forearms. It brought back painful memories of junior high gym class, when the jock girls would yell at me to get the ball while I’d be daydreaming of more laid back and non-competitive pursuits.

Due to my shark fear, surfing was out of the question. Even in my quest to be a sexy beach girl I was not willing to look like a giant sea turtle and place myself in shark territory. Boogie boarding, however, keeps one close to the shore and seemed like a safer option.

I conjured up memories of Cameron Diaz in Charlie’s Angels, the perfect beach babe icon, running in a tiny white bikini, surf board under her arm. I scampered into the waves carrying my boogie board, flashing The Sweetie a wide grin and flipping my hair, channeling Cameron all the way.

I started feeling like I was Cameron, whooping and forgetting that instead of a white bikini I was pasty and wearing a tankini to camouflage my belly rolls. The ocean was my playful frolicking friend. I was a natural. If Cameron and I met we’d become best friends and swill beer together and go shopping and she’d give me a makeover and teach me how to golf.

In the middle of my Cameron fantasies I was suddenly slammed by a wave and thrown face first onto the ocean floor. I emerged with a bleeding nose, stunned, humbled and oh so betrayed. The ocean was not my friend after all.

I spent the remainder of my beach vacation reading novels and magazines, looking like I’d been in a car accident, unable to move my neck and sporting unsightly bruises and gashes across my face. My dreams of being the new more portly Cameron Diaz dashed, I spent my days jotting down recipes and pressing cold compresses to my neck. Thanks to Ms Diaz and my subsequent injuries I’m sure my golf swing will suck, if I ever take up the game.

Despite almost becoming a human sacrifice to the ocean, I am strangely comforted. I like the idea of a universe in balance, that there is a natural order to things, some form of checks and balances. For every leggy blond fearlessly surfing, there must be a stubby legged mousy haired bookworm reading a magazine with an ice pack on her head. It’s only fair, and for what I lack in athletic ability, I will make up for with high speed page flipping and killer guacamole.

Today I stepped out  bundled up in my puffy coat and hat, and I may as well have been naked. The cold slapped my face and immediately gave me an ice cream headache, that searing pain you get in your forehead when gobbling ice cream too quickly.

You’re a nasty bugger, old man winter. You’re taking this whole March coming in like a lion to a vicious level. Don’t you think you’ve inflicted enough suffering and misery for one season? You’re like that boorish guest who just won’t leave. Well I’ll leave then, you cranky old codger. Do your worst. Wind chill factor? Peh. I spit on you and your wind chill.  Go on snow, freeze, bring it.

Just be gone when I come back from my beach vacation, okay?

Yes, you are ridiculously cute with your round belly and plump nose and general furry loveliness, but today I am really mad at you.  You are much too cute to stay angry at for too long, but did you really have to see your shadow today? Couldn’t you have poked your head out when it wasn’t so sunny? Haven’t we suffered enough already not to have to face another six weeks of winter? We all know winter is going to last even longer than that, there is still the  freak Easter blizzard to deal with in April, but it’s a mental thing, you know? A little hope of an early thaw would have gone a long way. That’s all. I hope you’re happy. Now go on back to your cozy warm burrow and sleep another couple of months. You adorable party pooper.