Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

October.  It’s not an illusion, it’s apparently a reality.  For the first time in months, I was tempted to turn on the heat this morning as my commute led me from bed to espresso machine to desk.  I can’t verify that I could see my breath, because I can’t see much of anything at that hour of the morning.  But it was chilly.

As sobering as it is to contemplate October as the harbinger of fall and inevitable winter, it has a double-witching quality for me because it’s also my birthday month.  Triple-witching if you throw in Halloween.  And while this year isn’t one of those milestone birthdays, 59 seems palpably different from 58.  When you’re swirling some distance from the drain, you feel like you could swim to shore whenever you choose.  As you swirl ever closer and faster, the shore becomes more of a concept than a reality and, for a sinner such as me, your thoughts turn more toward what unmentionable future awaits you in the drain trap.  59 just sounds so much more fourth-quarterish than 58, somehow.

Well, there’s your medley of metaphors for tonight.  Those long summer evenings, especially at this latitude, that allow one to procrastinate criminally and still have lots of daylight to salvage at 8 pm are gone.  But there’s Buckeye football to look forward to every weekend, along with the resultant chatter during the week.

And every now and then, a day comes along full of sun and maturity and experience, doing her best to hide the wrinkles of autumn in golden haze and come-hither eyebrow-arch, and if you’ve played your cards right, you can lock arms with her and kick joyously through the leaves, still in shorts and a t-shirt.