If October casts a spell, November must be the break. This was certainly the case in my home. We spent the better part of last month building up to Hallows Eve in the form of extra tricks and treats just for the hell of it. Add to this an assortment of festivals and carnivals, spooky movies, a few more meals out than we should have had, plus school in full swing.
What we were left with was two exasperated parents too tired to even Netflix and chill on any given night. When the physical affection slowed, so did the fun, even though we were trying our damnedest to be jolly spirits. People got grumpy. Head and stomach aches manifested. Over-indulging happened.
And then we (me) took little trips in our minds. Is it me? Is it her? Are we missing something? Then the kids moved into the bed nightly, one of them inevitably peed in it, and we were changing sheets at the witching hour cursing the scary movie we watched earlier.
No, not every night is going to be a television sit-com. Maintaining steady doses of joviality and high passion while married with children is a challenge, but it doesn’t mean we have to start thinking the worst. This is my major malfunction, I admit. Call it my own faulty wiring as a worrying writer—my own private psychosis.
Then, the hex broke. The time changed, and November arrived, and for this I am thankful. We need some interference sometime, some funk to remind us it’s not all fun and games, but I’m thankful it’s time to put the cobwebs away. Like a new day, sometimes a new month is all you need.