As February draws to a truncated close,
temperatures drop and the final days of January begin. I rotate my coat rack so
the denim and fleece move toward the back, wrap a scarf around my neck and zip
the double layers of my ski-coat. The night to make my resolutions is around
the corner. I assess my level of success and disappointment and promise to
avoid the same mistakes next year.
Beyond that proclamation of a better year
lies Christmas. Snowflake and tinsel
decor frame the doorways of my favorite bookstores, unavoidable holiday tunes
dance a fine line of entertaining and depressing. I gift my loved ones inexpensive sentiments
of presents. Symbols of love or friendship or co-workerness. Soon after, when I
shop for those trinkets of my affection, I find some joy in finding just the
right gifts. I stress about my limited
funds and do endless math to figure out where my money goes. I decide to start
saving more aggressively after the holidays.
When Thanksgiving comes around, I
savor the extra days off work, but find myself bored with all the free time –
so accustomed to my jam-packed days. I take Metra home to the suburbs, but
forget the pie I won at pub trivia in my refrigerator. I prepare to be challenged
by my brother.
On the Metra back home on
Sunday night, my bags full of clean laundry and leftovers, I plan for a vast
array of Halloween costumes that I won’t wear because Halloween will fall on a
weekday, and I just go to work as usual, but I wear socks with black cats and
buy some candy for my team. That night, I try to find something Halloween
themed on TV, and feel shock and surprise that tomorrow is already November 1st.
I wonder what happened to summer and why I feel like its been winter forever
already.
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