September

September is the longest month of this year. Or, at least, that's what it feels like. It's dragging on and on and on. It's almost as bad as my Chemistry class in high school where my teacher's voice was a drone in my ear. I remember trying to stab myself with a pencil a couple of times to end my misery.

I just can't wait till October. Francis and I see each other one weekend every month, which isn't so bad taking into consideration he lives in Montreal and I live on the opposite end, south of the continent. During the summer, the weeks in between visits went by pretty quick. But this month has taken its toll. My patience is thinning and I'm short of going nuts.

I knew, from the start, that I would eventually be feeling this way, but I find no regret in diving into the relationship as if I had nothing to lose. He's worth it. He keeps me grounded. He balances out every part of me.

So this is me, a big bag of mush, ready to make my friends puke.

And even though September is almost over, it's as if every minute lasts an hour. I've never really been popular because of my waiting skills. On the other hand, I'm notorious for making people wait.