My mom comes home with ears of corn and plastic bags of fresh fruit in her pocketbook.
This has been the longest winter in the history of forever.
I’m pretty sure the ice age was warmer than this, and it definitely wasn’t as drawn out.
Seriously. This is not an over exaggeration. It’s cold out. It’s March. It’s time to move along, winter. It’s spring’s turn.
The scary thing is: spring means the school year coming to an end which means graduation which means going to college which means I’m currently freaking out on the inside. It’s a good freak out, I think, but maybe it’s also a little bad. It’s melancholy. Nostalgic. Slightly regretful. Utterly, overwhelmingly anxious.
This is a post about coping.
Er, well it’s not morning anymore. But pretend it is. And pretend that you’re just waking up, stretching your legs and getting out of bed when it hits you: the smell of sweet, gooey blueberry muffins wafting from the oven. Your stomach growls. You come downstairs, still bleary-eyed and sleepy to find a hot cup of coffee and a still-warm muffin with a melty pat of butter on top waiting for you to devour.
This would never happen in real life. Just pretend.
It’s okay though, because this didn’t happen in my life either. Because, come on, if you think that I’m waking up early enough to bake you muffins, you’re crazy. Out of your mind. Completely bonkers.