Crawling towards the spring line

No matter how I try to set up my Februarys, every year without fail by the middle of the month I feel like a rat in a cage.

February is the opening of lines of You Can Call Me Al.

A man walks down the street

He says, "Why am I soft in the middle now?

Why am I soft in the middle?

The rest of my life is so hard

I need a photo opportunity

I want a shot at redemption

Don't want to end up a cartoon

In a cartoon graveyard"

Bonedigger, bonedigger

Dogs in the moonlight

Far away my well-lit door

Mr. Beerbelly, Beerbelly

Get these mutts away from me

You know I don't find this stuff

Amusing anymore 

I feel like I'm ready to burst or run screaming through the streets or let my crazy out in front of god and everybody.

Aside from the lack of light and black ice, I don't even dislike winter. I think it's just that by the end of February I'm looking for the rebirth of the world around me. I want to feel the sun on my skin, walk barefoot outside, be outside for longer periods of time, not wear a heavy jacket, bare my ankles to the air, all that jazz. I want to go back to the shore.

That's where I am today, and I'm just stopping in here to give you this sugar to add to your coffee because there's nothing worse than when people act like there’s always sunshine in their soul. There’s not and sometimes I’m a troll for no world changing reason. 

I'm dreaming of the day I will arrive on spring's doorstep, fall down to the ground weak and battered by February's bullshit, ready to be healed slowly by the fresh, new air.

It's coming. 31 days. We’re gonna make it.

TGIFF.