For a little while now I’ve felt ready for spring, positively itching for it. But in a recent development the itch has gone the way of most mosquitoe bites paid too much attention: it’s quite painful, threadbare red in color as well as feeling. 

I think if I didn’t know that spring was coming, if I had never heard of it before, I’d be alright. But I have heard of spring, I’ve seen it a few dozen times at this point and I’m fairly sure it’ll be any day now.

Something about knowing an expecting makes it more difficult to wait. There’s almost a sense of betrayal and unfairness to it. 

It makes me feel like a rat, even though that’s the opposite of what a rat would feel. 

When a rat is floating in water with no way out it will drown in a few hours. If you save the rat, then throw it back in the water, it can go for days. You’ve given it the hope that rescue is a possibility. 

The inching towards spring is far from a life and death thing, for me, right now, maybe if it were I’d be tougher than I am.

Maybe I should be more like a rat. I know springs coming, and that should give me hope.