Last Tuesday morning, I was awoken by my persistent uncontrollable cough (bronchitis?), eyes crusted with puss (pink eye?), sinuses feeling like crap (definite infection) in my near-freezing, ant-infested room of my mice-infested house.
I had a statistics midterm in the morning and enough work to have me sitting groggy-eyed in VDH drinking terrible coffee until 2 or 3 a.m. Then I returned to my near-freezing, ant-infested room of my mice-infested house where I chewed as much Ricola as I could, took a double-dose of Tylenol PM, took a shot of scotch and hoped this concoction would allow me the luxury of four or five hours of sleep before yet another long day. This is my life.
Funny thing happened this Tuesday, though. I woke up, and instead of the usual raw silence of winter with the occasional raspy acceleration or squeaky deceleration of a ’97 Buick LaSalle, I heard something that I hadn’t heard since—well, for a long time. Birds were chirping. Chirping. I went to my front porch where I was greeted by a warm sun. I sauntered to my backyard where, I kid you not, a golden puppy (my friend’s most recent extravagant purchase) was playfully running through the grass, no longer morbidly yellow, but now with a tint of green. It was spring.
I don’t know what the calendar has marked for spring, and I really don’t care all that much ’cause spring is here. Now, I’m not the biggest fan of spring. I enjoy wallowing in self-pity amid the falling leaves of autumn, taking myself way too seriously. But dammit, spring is nice!
Spring is a case of Busch Light and Third Eye Blind on main quad. Spring is a six-pack of Fat Tire and Nick Drake in the gardens. Spring is falling in love with every other girl that you meet. Spring is a chance for forgiving old friends. Spring is lax games, the Al Buehler trail and happy hour at the WaDuke.
She may not love you! You may have had a lonely Valentine’s Day! You may have spent it watching The Last Kiss and listening to Ray LaMontagne on repeat, but shed your last tear. It’s spring!