Ok, this is getting to be too much.
Fashion diva that I am, I am well prepared for spring and the accompanying fashions that are appropriate for this region of western New York. I've got this closet full of spring dresses, straw hats and wicker handbags. I've got great sandals and sling back shoes just waiting to be worn. I even have light spring pantyhose.
The trouble is, it still only 54 degrees outside. There might as well be 3 inches of snow on the ground.
This is really getting to be too much.
I've resigned myself to let winter be the time for me to hole up, become introspective and contemplate my navel, among other things. I was waiting for spring as the signal to go forward and bust out on the scene, my "new life" full of possibilities and promise.
Yet, I am, along with spring, stalled.
If I think about it, maybe this is a sign for me to really appreciate the quiet time and the moments of sheer silence. Maybe I should wait just a little longer and listen to the rain fall on my roof, watch the last of the lilacs fade away.
Patience has never been my strong suit. I hate waiting, wasting time. I want to start dancing at stop lights again, drive with the windows open, music pumping.
My flowing skirts and linen jackets are itching to get going. Yes, I know the weather here is fickle. What is probably going to happen is that we will all wake up next Tuesday to 85 degree weather, our bodies trying to get used to the heat, like one giant communal hot flash.
So I've broken out my wicker handbag. Just as a start. Tomorrow I will be wearing beige, as opposed to the browns and grays and blacks of winter. I don't care if I'm fashionably obtuse.
Yes, I know. How shallow I sound. It's just that I am so anxious to begin again. I am ready.
Lets get a move on, Spring. I've got a date.
With life.
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