Spring fever always comes with such excitement for me. The sun peeks out and my heart immediately starts to race. All I want to do is play outside. To end each day with the smell of sunshine on my kids’ hair and feeling invigorated by the fresh air in my lungs.
For me spring fever comes sometime in January. Doesn’t matter where I live. My body is aching for it now. But there is no such feeling yet.
The rain has been pounding every day for a good week or more now. I love rain. I love nothing more than to be cozy in my house, maybe curled up on the couch with a blanket in front of a crackling fire, watching Nature’s rain dance outside my window. I would hate to think this pervasive feeling of blah is because I’m bored of the rain.
Wally Weatherman is urging Californians to have emergency supplies on hand – food storage, water, etc – because he is predicting more rain. Not just more rain but a Frankenstorm. A storm unlike anything we have seen since 1861 and 1862, where California measured 8 ft of rain in 3 weeks. Holy that’s a lot of rain! This scares me and fascinates me all at the same time. Rain is amazing and I love it.
But I can’t shake this apathetic, I couldn’t care less about anything, blah feeling I have. This is not me. Yes I hate winter but winter in California is kind of fun. This is not me.
My life has become so predictable. Every day I do the same thing. I’m so bored of it all. I need a vacation. We are looking forward to a couple of vacations. Yet I’m not excited. I am but the doldrums are too strong for any real feeling of anticipation.
My voice sounds hollow as it almost echoes in my ears when I talk. It rasps when I laugh like some sexy smoker’s voice only just begun to be burned by a cigarette habit. I love that my kids have learned to share so well. They just haven’t learned that they can keep their illnesses to themselves. My throat feels sore in that tell tale I’m definitely getting sick sort of way. Waves of headaches and nausea wash over me periodically and I find myself trying in vain to talk myself out of giving in to the plague. He is too convincing and my resolve is starting to melt.
Years ago, weighed down by winter doldrums, I put on a bathing suit, stripped down my oldest son who was maybe 6 months old, and climbed into the bathtub with him. I imagined we were lying on the hot beach while the waves lazily lapped over us. I explained the whole imagined scene to him while we splashed the tub water over ourselves. And it helped, if only for that 30 minutes.
Maybe all I need to do is give in to the need to vomit then don my bathing suit and run myself a bath. It’s got to be better than crying.