Spring. (Archive)

Just a quick read about the season change, originally published in April of 2008. Soon enough, "Worry" and "Loss" shall be posted, assuming the weather doesn't divert my attention elsewhere.


I’ve been watching people get a fever. It’s fabulous to observe. As the weather warms and the trees start to bud, people are becoming more pleasant. Coats are coming off; more skin is shown; the human race in Chicago is starting to glow. Spring is a perfect time to forget any assoholic mentality that developed during winter. It’s a season to emerge from the crusty shell of frigid frozen visages and wicked behavioral lapses. The flowers are blooming and look at my happy face! The birds are singing and I join them, la-la-la! As the wind swirls sweet smells of the vernal equinox, I bound and hop, emanating chances and choices and a newfound resilience that withered in winter. For a short time, I’m swinging the world by the balls. It’s amphetamines without the edge. I’ve actually sang the Underdog theme thrice in two days.

Reality has a heavy smack and my confidence is sometimes placated, but I still love the greeting of open windows and soft dewy breezes when I arise each day. I giggle when the canine, Ella, bounces and the felines, Lewis and Punk, strut. The slow, woe-is-me, winter soundtrack has been altered to mixed discs with ridiculous songs such as, “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” January would have never seen house visitors stopping mid-conversation to chorus, “I’m hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet.” Spring allows and encourages reservations and inhibitions to pop like soap bubbles. Remember in the wintry months when tripping on something outside caused the reaction, “Blasted mother-fucking snow and shit!” In April and May, we’re moving faster, so a misstep results in the exclamation, “Har har! Did you see me trip? Haha!” Little annoyances remain little, snippets in time we gobble up with a gulping swallow and then forget, rather than masticating for days on end.

What a fantastic way to live: spontaneous five-second dances, cuts of lyrics warbled, simpatico and harmonious. I know it’s transitory, but I’m enjoying it nonetheless. Soon enough, the temperatures will skyrocket and people here will become sweaty and irritable. It happens every year in Chicago. Additionally, our Midwestern traditions insist upon barbecue, thus people are not only snappish and excreting stank moisture, but they seemingly have a continuality of being sauced and sticky. Ew.

Let’s focus on spring. Spring is pretty. Let’s jump around.