It’s fall.

If you reside in an area of the country [I like to refer to it as God’s favorite] where you experience the change of seasons, then you understand the sheer elation I’m feeling at this very moment as I put on an extremely worn-in hoody [the kind that barely keeps you warm anymore cus there are so many holes], eat a caramel apple [but only the kind I make myself], and drink a hot beverage [preferably a pumpkin spice latte] while staring at the crispy orange leaves outside my window.  Wow, don’t tell my 6th grade English teacher about that sentence, cus it definitely violated a few grammatical laws of nature.  If you can’t experience fall, then my heart aches for you.

Something about the fall just makes me think of new relationships. Why? Well, because it’s absolutely impossible to resist falling in love with someone during this time of year.  In fact, I believe almost all of my relationships have started in the fall.  In fact, I believe anything good that has come out of my life has started in the fall. Wait, but none of those relationships were good. Stop confusing me.

So why am I talking about fally wonderfulness when this blog is about commitment issues? Well, you should know better then to ask me questions about why I do the things I do.  Here’s my thought process: crisp weather —> I’m cold —> hoody —> wow, I need a pedicure —> fall —> unrequited love for Jon Stamos —> new  relationships —> WHAT? I’m all out of pasta? —> commitment.

All of you know that I suffer from a very serious condition that we might call: issues. Particularly, of the commitment genre. I can’t commit to and entire box of one type of cereal, thus, my cupboards overflow with mini-boxes, which lead visitors to the general conclusion that I am either a foster parent to a surplus of midgets, or that I run my own daycare.  That being what it is, if we’re talking about way more important issues such as: weekend plans, underwear colors, or hair dye you can expect hives and/or cold sweats at some point.  And if we’re talking about anything that will monopolize 6 months to a year of my time, I lose feeling in my forearms.

This was the exact feeling I experienced when I closed on my condo, followed by nausea and hyperventilation. Needless to say, it presented quite a challenge when I had to sign all that paperwork with a numb arm.

While trying to psychoanalyze myself, I’ve come up with a number of scapegoats on which to place blame for this senseless paranoia. The first, of course, being my mother.  I have no idea why, but it just seems like a logical conclusion to just about everything.  The second, being my string of bad luck with overly possessive boyfriends.  The third, being the changing of the tides or humidity levels of the rainforest.  All of which make more sense than the actual truth, which is, I’m nuttier than that box of assorted off-brand Valentines Day chocolates still rotting on the bottom shelf of your fridge.  Guys, seriously, what did I tell you about Valentine’s Day gifts?

When I come back, I not only promise that I will be extremely parched, dehydrated, and tan – but that we will return to your regularly scheduled blog programming and I will have an announcement for you that you may or may not be excited about.  I’d like to say it is an announcement so big that it might blow your socks off, but then I remembered that I hate when people say that.  I mean, is that even possible? Come on, people.

Get real.

I miss you already!