Transmissions From a Bloated, Pasty, Hairy Torso

Dead leaves and the dirty ground.

When I left for work today, I was all set to drive. I got out of bed, showered, got dressed, grabbed my keys, and walked down to the street with my truck key singled out, in my had, ready to unlock my door, get in, and drive to work. Then, I opened the door and walked into the cool of the morning and the bright sun.

Okay, I'll openly admit that I'm exaggerating. I say "cool of the morning" like it's a crisp sixty degrees. In all honesty, it was more like a kind seventy-five, but it was nice nonetheless, especially after considering we were under a "heat advisory" for the bulk of last week.

I did, in fact, open my truck and I got out my headphones and walked to work listening to the latest episode of Skepticality on my iPod. Somewhere between Michael Shermer saying something and Phil Plait saying something else, I saw the leaves in the above picture.

I realize it's not autumn yet. I realize autumn won't officially come around until sometime next month, but seeing dead leaves lying in the gutter gave me hope.

Like most fat people, I hate the summer with a passion. I hate sweating, I hate feeling obligated to be outside all the time, I hate people wanting to go to the beach and go swimming and then questioning me as to why I won't take my shirt off and expose my bloated, pasty, hairy torso to the world.

But I like the fall.

I like jackets, scarfs, and long pants. I love walking through leaves, I love cool breezes, I love opening the windows of my house and letting the clean air in. I like Thanksgiving and I love Halloween and I can't wait to wear my winter hats.

I'm ready for cool weather and cool jackets, and today, the sight of dead leaves on the ground gave me hope that the hot weather shall someday pass and I'll be living in a fall wonderland, bracing myself for a long winter of wishing it were summer.

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