I’m tired of perpetual winter. Every time I look outside, be it from my bedroom or a bus, it’s raining. I roll up my jeans, tuck my scarf around my head, fend off the stares of curious Harvard kids, and for what? By the time I make it to the office, I’m soaking wet. I sometimes don’t know why I bother.
It’s been a whirlwind of a year, and I’m moving on Monday, and when I look at the forecast and every picture has clouds or raindrops, I want to crawl under my pillow and not come back out. There’s nothing like a Boston spring to take the wind out of you.
This is more personal than I usually allow on my blog. When I think about that, I giggle, but if you’d read my first blog eight years ago, you’d understand.