March Madness

“It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want—oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!”
~ Mark Twain

By the time we got home from the mountains last weekend, spring was already busy stereotyping itself—double rainbows arching across the sky, vain spiders sun tanning on the balcony, trees and meadows bursting into bloom, pollen, pollen everywhere. Spring! I immediately pulled the short sleeves out of storage and tossed the blanket off our bed, only to remember that late March is not quite as warm as it looks. Nevertheless… spring!

Clouds and sunshine have been flirting endlessly, my energy levels fluctuating in direct correspondence. My total emotional reliance on the weather amuses my husband, but it’s about as fun to live with as a pet harpy. Bursts of inspiration are washed out suddenly by tiredness; I go from supermom to horrible failure in sixty. (D: “But you’re not a failure.” B: “You’re forgetting the horrible.”) I feel hopelessly motivated and hopelessly behind, seesawing to opposite extremes in the capricious sunlight. I’m part honeybee, part slug, and three parts mad hatter all at once.

However, change is dancing in the breeze as it does every spring. I’m believing at least two and a half impossible things before breakfast, and the horizon continues to glow long after dark. Tomorrow, we pack up our new tent (Car Lingus finally inspired us to upgrade from our leaky 2-person budget model) and chase the scent of lemons down to Capri for the weekend; I intend to come back brimming with the magic of sunrises over blue water and hopeful enough to ditch the slug persona.

Welcome, you crazy spring.

(Thanks to Dan for sending along this gem of an April anthem)