Saturday, February 16, 2013


February doesn't bear much; offering no more than cold hands and a lack of sunshine. It feels as though I haven't been outside in eternity, it feels foreign out there yet I am desperate for its offerings. Every time I step outside there's an overwhelming sense of invigoration as I peer at the sky and trees.

Oh Springtime, won't you arrive?

I'm sitting at my desk before my window. A chilly draft seeping down through infinitesimal cracks, reminding me to shift my gaze to the playful, plentiful white flakes of snow twirling wildly in front of me.

I feel at a loss for words these days as I seem to periodically trip over potholes of stress and tension and each time I am reminded of my weakness that I am nothing short of a giant, unduly worrywart who, although much of the time enjoys a nice heaping spoonful of positivity and optimism, falls victim to that of total despair and a tendency to expect the worst. Sometimes telling myself that everything is going to be okay is more labored than I'd like to admit.

You know how I'm truly feeling? I'm feeling seriously compelled to simplify my life. This gnawing urgency taps me on the shoulder about twice a year, usually around springtime but more so when I'm feeling particularly messy and exposed, in head and in heart. I just want to hide away, delete things, clean things, throw things out, be left alone.

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