Spring is, once again. Maybe it’s because this is one of the coldest springs in years, but this one feels like it cannot come any sooner. My nights are restless; my teeth are clenched; I feel cold. I toss and turn under heavy blankets: their weight has always felt comforting but these days feels too heavy and, alternately, not heavy enough. Cold and hot and cold, cold, cold.
Spring unmoors us all. Between the allergies and the blooms and the promise (fulfilled!) of more light and thinner clothing and less clothing and almost no clothing and the bites and the sunburn and the forty degrees worth of climactic variation all in the span of sixteen psychotic hours, spring tests even the most ascetic disposition.
It’s going to get you.
It got me already.