They say to be a good writer, you should write for at least 15 minutes a day. I’m not exactly sure who “they” are, but I don’t make the rules, I just play by them. So in honor of that requirement, here are some thoughts of mine.

I don’t like autumn. People think it’s great because it finally cools down, the leaves are changing, and football season starts, but I disagree. Autumn depresses me- the leaves aren’t “changing color”, they’re dying. Autumn is just a shitty placeholder between the dog days of summer and the (possible) winter wonderland ahead, assuming it actually snows and isn’t just some bullshit “wintry mix” that makes you want to swallow a knife.

Even the music I listen to gets more and more dreary as summer transitions into fall. After all, you can’t listen to Grover Washington’s “Mister Magic” in the fall, can you? (NO, YOU FUCKING CANNOT. It sounds weird, so do yourself a favor and don’t do it. Don’t even YouTube it until next May.) So I’m looking forward to The Smiths and Radiohead and about 6 months of eating out of sheer depression. But not savory foods, more like chocolate chip cookies that I didn’t space correctly on the pan so they turn into one giant, salmonella-infested-in-the-middle-yet-nearly-cremated-on-the-edges fucking disaster. I will still eat it, and then I’ll write about it. Fall turns me into Bridget Jones, I guess.

15 minutes are up. Whoever came up with that rule is an idiot, because I think I actually got worse.