Febru-wha?

Its what now? The 18th?

Jeez.

Wednesday night again; I'm at the ambulance building waiting for potential wreckage and mayhem from the snow/sleet/freezing rain/plague of frogs NOAA has sort of accurately predicted. So far, only one call, a person whose wreckage and mayhem was of a pulmonary variety.

Just spent a couple of hours with a sweet person who never fails to share details about people that I really don't want to know. I still haven't figured out how to say, "um, I don't want to hear this" without offending, so I spent the last twenty minutes making what I hope is a 'please stop talking' face. She's done now, and has gone home.

My thoughts have been limping, cripply, and unfunny lately, hence the recent blog-hiatus. I can't claim any personal Dark Night of the Soul (I almost spelled that Dark Knight of the Soul, which would imply some deep searching of Christian Bale, an activity I could completely get behind, even with his anger issues and whatnot. Hey-- who hasn't had the sudden overwhelming urge to give a pesky AD a South Philly shoeshine during a particularly tense scene of Batman-emoting. We've all been there.)

I'm sorry, I was just distracted by a commercial wherein a gentleman wearing a seemingly unnecessary headset just declared "We're going to make America skinny again, one slap at a time!" There's no way to understand that statement that doesn't disturb me.

Where was I. Batman. Christian Bale. Souls. ShamWow eyebrow SlapChop guy. Oh, right. Winter

ennui.

I'm trying to recall what I've been doing with myself the last few weeks. Other than mainlining Jan Karon novels and eating multiple bowls of Malt-o-Meal fake Froot Loops, nothing comes to mind. Surely my winter has amounted to more than discount cereal and Christian chick-lit.

Not so far. Here's a quick list of the rest:

1. Battlestar Galactica on Netflix

2. Snow

3. Subzero cold

4. Work

5. More subzero cold

6. Fire banquet

7. More cold

8. A bit more snow

9. A Super Bowl or something

I have reconnected with a lot of high school friends on Facebook. That's been fun, though if I knew how many of them stood at the ready with pictures of me in glasses with Hubble telescope-sized lenses and big hair I might have mashed the 'Ignore' button a few more times.

Seriously, though, while I love talking to old friends I caught myself OD-ing on nostalgia a time or two. And we all know its a short stroll down Memory Lane to 'What I Have Done and What I Have Failed To Do' Street, which dead ends on 'Middle Age Panic' Circle, with its declining property values and tacky landscaping.

So I tread lightly and carefully, dreaming of Spring and more interesting tidbits to bring to my readers. Even my intrepid customers have been pleasantly banal, no amorous canines or strangers who urge me to wear their slippers. I close my eyes and imagine tulips tightly furled against the dark, frozen soil, the yards hiding fragrant lilac bushes, the stalks of mountain laurel that will line these roads in riotous display in a few short months. I dream of green, the dark blue-green of the pines, the soft yellow-green of new grass, the lush green of the canyon under the heavy heat of August, laced with butterflies, with its smell of sun-baked green that rises in waves and washes over me like sleep. My desperation in the dark and freezing night does not delay it a moment. People....

...green is coming.