Forget spring fever. I’m experiencing fall fever — as in fevuh — and I’ve got it bad. The sky is blue. The clouds are white and fluffy. The leaves are turning and dancing in the breeze. Bees are buzzing. Cars are rolling.

I want to be cruising in a machine that at least has a sun roof, or a convertible with leather seats. Better yet, a muscle car.  I want some tight, low-riding jeans and a white tee. I want my hair up in a ponytail and sticking out the back of a baseball cap. I want some radical shades popped on the end of my nose and some little gold hoops dangling from my ears. I want the tunes turned up — loud. I want a cherry coke (the real one) and some salty fries. I want a best friend forever riding shotgun. Hell, I might even want to snap some gum. I want to spot Mr. G, honey on the street…

See. I’ve got it bad. Fall fevuh. Oh, yeah. Nobody sang Mustang Sally like Wilson Pickett.

Procrastination fantasy at its best. What do you want to be doing?

Elen