It’s a little weird, but when I was a kid, September meant something different to me. September meant everything that I loved—my freedom, my lack of math homework, and my hours of Anastasia marathons—were suddenly coming to a grinding end. September meant homework. September meant bedtime at a reasonable hour, and September meant a juggernaut of newness. September, now that I think of it, was the first time I realized I hated change.
What’s strange, though, is that university is somehow different. Now I don’t know if that was just because I was working and doing summer school, but when September came around, I couldn’t wait to get back to school. I actually liked school, and I, especially now (as this is one of my last “first months”), like the first month of school.