It’s getting to be spring in Boston. I know this because I’ve (regularly) been able to go for outdoor runs in the afternoon without wanting to die due to exposure.
I also know this because of the wistful glances that my students have been making out the window during class time (difficult because my classroom is actually in a basement; the windows are almost entirely below ground level and the small amount of natural light which we are graced with has to travel through small slits on the level of the ceiling).
I also also know this because of the inevitable yearning for even less structured days; the bulk of my grading is pretty much done at this point (there will be one final push in a few weeks, but the major written assignment are all taken care of), my trips to campus are growing fewer in frequency by the day (also due partly to the fact that I’m not in a research crunch right now, but rather a writing stretch), and I have fewer and fewer meetings on my calendar.
I also also also know this because when I look at the syllabus, we’re quickly running out of class days. And when we run out of class days, then we run out of class. And when we run out of class, then I get to take a short break before running brake-neck into the next series of engagements (I’ve got several summer tasks already lines up and I can just smell a couple others on the air).
In short: spring is a big fat tease. It tantalizes with promises of nice weather (I went for so many walks this weekend; I even got to take my whip out for the first bullwhip practice of
the season… surprisingly my skill didn’t degrade at all over the winter, which gives me hope for learning a couple new tricks in the next few months), it shows you the slightest bit of freedom before yanking it away again, and it simply revels in your glorious suffering. Sure, you might be able to work with the window open these days, but that wonderful fresh air which beckons you outside sings its siren song to lure you to inevitable lack of work ethic. Spring encourages lackadaisicality and I will never forgive it for that.
Of course, I will also never forgive it for the havoc it wrecks on my sinuses. Stupid tress. Stupid pollen. If any other living thing assaulted me suchly with its reproductive organs, I would be filing a restraining order and calling my shrink on a daily basis for assistance in dealing with the trauma. No means no, adolescent trees. No means no.
Anyway, mostly this year I’m holding it against spring that it chose to show up so late to the party. Not that I’m not happy to see it, just that I’m grumpy it made me wait so long. It thinks it can make up having to deal with winter’s creepy show-up-at-your-door-unannounced tendencies for an extra month by just being its “awesome” self? I don’t THINK so, spring. You’re going to have some real groveling to do before I forgive you for that little trick. So get going with trying to make it up to me; I’ll just wait here until I feel like you’ve done enough to put you back in my good graces again.