I've been feeling a little...well...impatient lately. I'm impatient for change, impatient for progress, impatient for September. Unfortunately, I haven't mastered time (yet), so I'm doing what comes most natural to me when life isn't cowing to my every demand. First, I mope, then I write:
Dear September,
I'm mad at you.
You have hit the 'pause' button on my life. Right now, all of my most important dreams and goals and relationships are suspended mid-flight while I await your arrival and the grand adventure you've promised to bring with you.
You've been playing coy from the moment I declared I was moving to London (roughly 87 years ago). It's not like you haven't been my single focus all this time either, September. I've lost sleep over university admission applications, scrimped and saved every last penny, even said goodbye to my first love. All for you. And how do you repay this dedication, September? More waiting?
Well, let me tell you, all this waiting around for you is starting to get a wee bit old. Seriously September, you are a tease and we're no longer friends. You're nothing but a poor man's October...
Ok. I may have crossed a line there. I'm just kidding about the October crack. Sort of. Just hurry up and get here! Pretty please.
xo,
Liz
{Images via Elizabeth Farrar for Bella Vita}
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