I’m looking forward to tomorrow.
Not because it’s Friday, although that’s nice too, but because it’s finally March 1.
My case of February blahs has been worse than usual this year. I’ve had no energy, no enthusiasm and no interest in anything. My response to everything this past month has been “whatever.”
I could have happily spent all twenty-eight days curled up in my bed with a stack of good books, but that wasn’t an option.
I’ve never been a fan of the month. By February I’m sick of winter, of grey skies, of cold.
The holidays are over, as is my annual trip to New York City and there’s nothing to look forward to because it’s too soon to think about spring or (God forbid) summer.
I want to sit on my deck with a glass of iced tea and feel the sun on my face. But I can’t because everything is slushy and wet and crappy.
Oh yeah, and there is no sun.
Even the word February is blah. It sounds like something Eyeore would say with a big sigh. “February.”
I know nothing magical happens with the turn of the calendar but just saying March makes me feel better. March is an action, it has movement.
It’s a Tigger word instead of an Eyeore word.
And I’m ready for a little Tigger.