It’s been bad. Maybe not everywhere but almost, and us New Englanders have had one WTF day after another. The travel conditions and gray skies were overwhelming by themselves but on top of that we had leaky roofs, window condensation, broken doors, broken bones, influenza, ice dams, pot holes, salt and slush and filthy mountains of snow obstructing views at every intersection.
Everyone you talk to says, “I am so done with this.” Every single person says this. “I am so done.” It has created a certain zeitgeist, a cultural temperament. We are the sound of a thousand whoopee cushions. We care about nothing. We can barely open a bag of potato chips for dinner. We have so much longing we don’t even recognize it anymore.
This winter let us have it, under no uncertain terms. We watched the weather report like Czech villagers waiting for the curfew to lift, the bombs to stop dropping. We are ragged, pale and snippy. We are so done.
April may be the cruelest month but March is no picnic. The thaw has started bringing water, fog, swollen doors and jagged slivers of hope.
But will spring redeem us?
I’m not sure, but I am feeling the itch to blog again, and that must be something. That must mean I am not quite done.
What about you?