It’s a new year, with all of the familiarity of last year’s snow still sitting heavy on the ground.
At least the sun sticks around for longer. And I don’t need to wear my big pink poofy coat anymore. I think my days as fluorescent marshmellow are behind me, but spring is a finicky lady at this latitude so I’m never quite sure.
Tonight is the last night of my last spring break of college. I made chili to celebrate with ground beef Valerie’s parents vaccuum-packed and mailed to her when she kept getting low hematocrit scores at the bloodbank.
In honor of spring cleaning, I cleared out a trash bag’s worth of clothing that I’ve accumulated from various dump trips over the last year. I also spent several hours meticulously reading through banjolele user reviews on Amazon.
“You’re going to show up in Haifa with a backpack full of dump clothes and an orchestra of weird stringed instruments,” Valerie remarked.
Now I want a mandolin too.
My brother and I are both graduating this spring, him from high school and me from college, so we’re planning one of those rites-of-passage backpacking trips right now. You know, the kind where you fill the small pockets on your backpack with earrings from artisan markets and eat ice cream from corner stores?
I keep googling imaging cities in warm climates on the coast, knowing full well that this is it for winter and I for a few years. I want to be less anxious about seeing the snow melt, but patience is not a virtue I’m very good at during breakup season.