August is the Sunday of the year
If you’re anything like me, your soul thrives in the summer and shrivels up the rest of the year.
May and June are beacons of hope for you as your claw your way out of your cold, rainy cave and emerge a new human being in the sweet summer sun. Everything is wonderful and bright and the world is your oyster.
But then August comes and your spirit starts to decay once again. You don’t know what this heavy feeling is, but you know it means something horrible is coming. August is, therefore, the awful, depressing Sunday night of the year, and there’s no denying it.