A Spring Tale
As I sat one day contemplating life and why it’s decided to be so cruel to me, something popped into my head. Spring. No, not the one in your bed that pokes through the surface of the mattress in the middle of the night and reminds you that you have to pee, or loudly lets anyone within twenty feet, walls or not, know that you’re getting laid. I mean the season spring.
What the hell happened to it? It seems we went from the lion of March to hotter than July in the snap of a meteorologist’s finger. Who destroyed spring? God? Nature? Humankind? It’s probably a combination of the three with humankind leading the race by at least three laps.
I wax poetic about the lost season of spring. Sure, the plant life blooms. It always does until a one-week drought sets in to kill it. A single tear rolls down my cheek as I vacuum up the dead carcasses of the Gray Wolf Spiders that line my wall moldings. Without spring, they made an early run to set up shop in my apartment, but I’d been paranoid about them since January, so I sprayed in February. Oh crap. That was four months ago, and the spray lasts for ninety days. I’ll be fine, I think. The spiders are probably even more confused than am I.
What I miss more than anything is having that two months where I can open all the windows, and allow the fresh spring air to force out the stagnant, smelly air of winter. More importantly, I miss the savings I get from turning off my heat, and LEAVING my air conditioning off. That’s what bothers me the most.