Planet America at the End of September.

Like many basics, I come alive in the fall-time.

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As I said, I Come Alive in the "Fall-Time".

We need to make "Falltime" an acceptable word. It is rude that I get spell-checked every time I type it. If nasty-ass summer can get a "time", so can fall.

That being said, this is my season, so strap in, this soliloquy will be long. It may turn me into a basic boring in your eyes, but it is a personality sacrifice I am willing to make.

'Tis the season when the weather starts to fall (and so do the bugs—away). The nights get cozier. Teas, hot chocolates, malts, and fires begin to resonate better. The whispers of Halloween and Christmas begin. Music takes an interesting turn because the artists are not concerned about creating any summer dance anthems—it's all feelings and reorientation. The movies get moodier; the psychopaths on film suddenly multiply tenfold.

All that isn't to say it doesn't have its issues. I just struggle to latch on to them as much as I do to those of any other season. It is the warm blanket between two polar aggressors—not like spring; hate her too.

For any acquaintances who were thinking, and it's your birthday, know this: I do not care about my birthday. Except for the fact that I find the date itself cool, I am not concerned with that day. It is more of a celebration for my family and friends: Congrats. I was born on this day however many years ago.

I otherwise cannot fathom throwing myself pop-poms for being born. I'm me?

#BringBackTheBodyIssue .

It matters not how ESPN's Body Issue reigned back into my memory. What does matter is that I googled its progress—knowing in the back of my mind that it's probably been canceled—only to be shocked upon finding out that it was gone.

Why, you wonder, is it gone? Because we are a reductive society that is eradicating everything that's good. It was such a brilliant concept; here are some posey photos of nude athletes. Although initially a bit unnerving for me, I must confess it took all of 5 seconds for me to go from unnerved to highly on board. Give me the Tiger Woods x Love Magazine cosplay that I never asked for. Give me a digital Body Issue every year. Please, and thanks.

The Renaissance Verdict.

I have taken my time to digest the masterpiece, and although my views may change much later in the future, I have my top 6. Five is simply too little.

Before I give my list, I want to appreciate Beyoncé for occasionally updating my skate anthem—regardless of the fact that I can't skate. From "Green Light," to "Blow," to "Heard About Us," to "Virgo's Groove".

Now, for the rankings. In no particular order because I don't do that:

1. Move.

2. Heated.

3. Virgo's Groove.

4. All Up In Your Mind.

5. Church Girl.

6. Thique/Summer Renaissance/Cozy/Alien Superstar/I'm That Girl.

7. The inescapable need to listen to "I'm That Girl," then "Cozy," "Alien Superstar," "Cuff It," "Energy," and finally "Break My School" in that order.

8. The summoning of my ancestry in "Heated" and "Move".

9. The complete dissolving of my heartstrings in the second half of "Move" after having been overworked by Grace Jones just before.

10. The cocky yet very-relaxed-and-laying-on-the-couch-watching-your-very-mesmerized-self energy during the verses and bridge on "Thique".

11. Beyoncé's remembering that I thoroughly enjoyed "Ghost" and in turn, giving me "All Up In Your Mind" for progressive purposes.

12. I hate Beyoncé. She sucks.

The Month of Being Nice-ish.

About halfway into the month, I had an epiphany. Given that in August, I'd sworn myself to just "vibez" and nothing else, I'd allowed myself so much leeway, I'd become mean—unwarrantedly mean.

In the month (well, halfway through) of September, I'd decided a conscious effort to be kinder was needed. I needed to try smiling a little more, listening a little more, and being a little more patient. The more I gave myself an excuse to care a little less, the more of an asshole I was becoming. That's probably how assholes are born: A lack of self-awareness.

I Am Officially on Ring Finger and Womb Watch.

The echoes of people—family and family friends only—expressing their desire for me to introduce a prospective wedding and bear children have progressed to direct statements right in my face (and ears—phone calls and the like).

It seems their previously casual giggles and jokes about marriage and a family have become a little more maniacal.

Send help.

That's it for September. My season of fulfillment has arrived.