False spring

February 18th

Is treacherous. And I am old enough to know it, and I should know it, and yet I let myself be led astray by it. It was enough for the sun to come up shining for a couple of hours between the torrential downpours over the last week for me to fall for it. The temperature went up to 7–8 degrees Celsius. The wind was still strong, but the sunshine was so inviting. And I went out, ditching my hat and gloves and one layer of normal winter clothing. It was actually pleasant enough to open my jacket, ease up my walk and strut around like John Travolta strutted around Brooklyn in the opening scene of the “Saturday Night Fever”. Of course, I knew that wasn’t the real deal — there was no smell of soil waking up and thawing itself after the deep freeze of winter. The birds are more active, but it still isn’t the spring awakening for them. There are no insects around (well, I guess it is nevertheless cool that they ain’t). And during that sunshine, there were frequent moments when the sun momentarily would hide behind the clouds and piercing wind would get underneath the jacket and sting me to the bone with its glacial touch. There were those warning signs.

But I didn’t care. I could almost physically touch the spring in what I was feeling around me.

And now I suffer consequences. My nose is stuffed up to the brain (or whatever of the brain I have left in my thick skull). I got chills, and they are multiplying, but not in a positive way like John Travolta sang about Olivia Newton-John in the “You’re the One That I Want” song from the “Grease”. No, they are multiplying in a nasty, head and arms shaking manner. I feel short-tempered, annoyed at anything and everything, and I cannot find a comfortable place for myself anywhere. And it is all my fault and the weekend is here and that makes me feel even worse. For goodness’s sake, I am 48 years old and some sunshine in February got like I was still a teenager with a superior immune system and without a care in the world.

Actually, that might not be such a bad thing. You know — to still be able to feel like a teenager for a while. And now I am just going to make myself a cup of tea and watch some musicals in bed. I guess that mentions of Travolta above opened in me a need for old-fashioned entertainment. And I just love musicals. And not that many people know it about me. And now you do too!