“It’s April already?”
I’ve heard so many people–at home, work, church–relay this sentiment, as if time has conspired to pass us by quicker than expected. 2018 is four months in, and perhaps for those who’ve accomplished little, the months have stood still, but I am among those who have watched them fly by. I have two jobs now, and I’ve worked non-stop since the 29th of March. In just a few weeks, I’ll be twenty-three. I’m seeing someone.
So much has happened.
The weather fluctuates all the time now, rubber-banding between winter and spring. There’s been rain, but there’s also been snow. A foot of it weekend before last, to be exact, and more this weekend. A few days ago, I saw girls in short-shorts walking around town; today, I had to wear my coat in to work because it was so cold, and my boss turned on the heat.
I knew this would happen. In one of my previous posts, I talked about how the winter was bitter enough to last through March, maybe even into April, and I was right. It’s a few days into April, yet snow comes for us once more, rolling in from the north until guests at the hotel where I work comment on how cold it is despite them being from Michigan, Pennsylvania, Maine.
But I miss summer.
I’m dreaming of warm summer nights, of crickets and cicadas in the distance, fireflies around me as I wear shorts and douse myself in bug spray. I’m dreaming of starting my job as a lifeguard, sitting in the tower with my whistle and red swimsuit, getting a perfect tan while watching the pool through the tint of my sunglasses. I’m dreaming of coffeeshops in summer, dressed in my favorite jean shorts and tanks, finishing off the outfit with summer-lightened hair and sunkissed skin, a flowing kimono piece overtop.
Summer seems so far away.
Last time I spoke of spring and summer, it was January. Time passes quickly, but with the temperature in the thirties today, a fire in our wood-burning stove, and the promise of snow, the warmer months seem as if they’ll never arrive.
I’ve been doing everything I can to soothe the ache in my chest, yet still, spring fever–is there such thing as summer fever?–demands my attention, filling me with its warm echoes, and I can’t resist it much longer.
With how fast time has passed recently, I can only hope it continues to do so–that I save up money, go out with friends, move into an apartment that’s mine, go to coffeeshops and bookstores, hang out with a certain someone, and live hard enough that time becomes a blur of happy days until summer reaches out to me with rays of warm sunshine.
It’s April already.
2018 has been good to me, and this year feels like a promise.