i was a kaleidoscope: J'ai aucun mot pour cette fatigue, cette intrigue

I'm not sure how I feel about September.

When people hear words, or see pictures, or hear a certain song on the radio, as humans our minds make thousands and thousands of subconscious and conscious references, connections, associations and junctions. Our brains are smarter than we are. We process the information and unconsciously select the key information and/or memories that will identify to us the certain feeling, sentiment, or word we need to describe, analyze, and reference that enzymatic word, image, or sound.
To me, September is backwards. You see, I of course have no experience with anyone else's brain, but my brain associates everything to everything else so quickly and randomly and inexplicably, that half the time what I say or think of in association to a certain idea makes little to no sense. That is why people think I'm strange. But that doesn't matter. What I'm trying to make you understand is that a lot of different words (namely, pretty much all of them) actually bring out a very specific feeling, not in my mind but on my skin, as in a can actually reach out and touch the way that a sentence or proper noun will make me react and feel. I am a very kinesthetic person in regards to this, and I don't quite understand why. I think this is what makes me such a volatile, moody person as well...so many things influence my very physical condition that I am always changing and altering my mood subconsciously. Anyways.
All of the month names also make me feel certain ways.
When someone says January, I immediately shiver and my toes get cold flashes and I seem to close up into myself a little. I don't like January, it makes me feel lonely.
February makes me think of pink snow. I don't know how I feel about pink snow, except that my fingers buzz, but I am not as strongly opposed to February as January, I think.
March makes me think of green things, naturally, except because March is a) still freezing cold in Calgary, and b) the longest month to me (before April, and I have to wait until the very end for spring break), March makes me tired and it exhausts me to think about it.
April is such a nice word. Maybe it's because it's my birthday month. But even though it, too, is generally still bitterly cold, I guess some sort of bizarre hope is instilled in me for better times and better weathers. April makes me feel light and it makes my fingers feel long.

...and so on. I won't make you suffer through any more of that, except to note that September is backwards for me. I love the word September. In my mind it seems crisp and sunny and it tastes like lemon popsicles. It makes me excited, and it makes me feel forgiving and my body feels content.
But I hate September. It always comes too soon, it's always colder than it should be, and I always feel like I'm caught in some bus wheels or something and that I'm being dragged around, never quite catching up to whatever it is I'm supposed to catch.
My mind loathes September. My body loves it.

I'm going for my run now, even though it is cold and every little fiber of my being is telling me otherwise. I don't feel happy even though I had a waffle for breakfast and snuggled up in my bed to read my book afterwards. I feel cold, and tired, and lonely.