Yesterday most definitely felt like the first day of spring.
Okay, so it was still a little chilly when I went out for my morning run. I still wore my fleece, hat, and gloves. But it felt like the world was desperately trying to force its way into spring. The sun was bright and warm. Birds were out and singing with a vengeance. And downtown was buzzing with a vibrant energy as people began taking to the outdoors to enjoy what surely must be the beginning of a lovely spring.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to enjoy much of it, as I had to work. (Bo Burnham, however, who put on a hilariously awkward show.) But I didn’t mind too much. After all, Monday is a day off for me. There will be a whole day for enjoying the warmth and sunshine that was surely to come.
So when I woke up this morning, I did so with a sleepy smile on my face. I laid in bed, thinking about all the nice things that I could do today. There would be a long run downtown. An after-lunch walk with Kyle, perhaps for some frozen yogurt. And maybe we could dig the grill out of the shed and grill us up some yumminess. It was going to be a wonderful lazy spring day.
These dreams of robins and rays were immediately smashed against the sidewalk, however, when I got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside for a peek at my perfect spring day and saw what looked like a fucking blizzard. Think I’m kidding? Look at this shit.
So much for my run. So much for our walk. So much for some motherfucking grilled chicken. My beautiful spring day is now covered in two inches of snow, and I just wasn’t emotionally prepared for this. Of course, it does explain the white string hanging from Mother Nature’s giant, angry vagina, because this bitch is clearly on the rag. Someone tell her she’s skinny and give her a chocolate bar already, so we can have our springtime back.
And in the meantime, at least there’s always skiing.