Tag Archives: Spring

And now I’m back from Dublin

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Back and STILL sleepy. I don’t think I got a full twelve hours of sleep between leaving England and coming back…. Why, do you ask? Well…er had a starting time of 4:30 in the morning. So I figured the most sensible thing was to NOT sleep at all. The library stays open all night anyway so I just hang out there with a friend and we watched movies (Harry Potter of course!) until it was time to meet up with the others. And…

***Never mind, I’ll continue this in 20 minutes. I finally found the original Yu-Gi-Oh! in Japanese and I’m binge-watching***

And now I’m back! A few episodes and quick nap later. And the inevitable frustration that accompanies every waking moment when my laptop decides to act up with zero explanation. But one thing at a time. Where did this all start from? Ah, yes! My all-nighter. it was fun! I swear. Tiring of course and causing me to pass out during the (unfortunately) short flight to Dublin but for the biggest part of the day I was swinging between manic cheerfulness and that fugue-like state you are right before you fall asleep. And this dear friends is why there are no pictures in this post. Kind of hard to take them when you’re speeding through historical Dublin in less than 48 hours and having to consciously concentrate on forming words in the right language and accent. Yes. New discovery: the more tired I am, the more muddled the languages become in my head. In retrospect it’s kind of funny.

Dublin was lovely. Kind of chilly because of the wind but the sun was out all day, both days and not even a hint of rain bothered us. And yes, this is yet another city I’ve barely met yet I’m already sort of in love with. It doesn’t really help that my first introduction to the country was through the Artemis Fowl books (a stipple of my teenage years and I am STILL waiting on the movie!). I was going there prepared to like the place and I left determined to return for further explorations…

Of course, judging my the weather since I returned, Nottingham is a jealous mistress who did not appreciate my going off to a different city for any length of time. Look at this weather forecast! It’s supposed to be spring!

Capture weathre Here’s to hoping BBC is wrong. At which point I will stop as I just nearly broke my jaw yawning. I think dinner, then sweet dreams are in order for me. See you all soon!

Oh Spring Break, where have you gone?

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Well, okay, I still have a week left but still! Why do you think time flies so fast? Is there something incredibly cool coming up that no one told me about and even the forces of Space and Time are impatient? Because that would be so cool! If this comes off as a little hyper I have one two good (?) explanations for you, dear, bewildered reader.

  1. My  immune system has been sling-shooting between healthy and stomach-bug-from-hell for the past few days. Today has been moderately good and I’ve trying to focus on the positives.
  2. I’ve rediscovered my love for Taylor Swift (which mean that Blank Space and the rest of her newer stuff has been playing non-stop on YouTube). The thing is, last time I liked Taylor Swift so much, I was a teenager and  going through the happy-go-lucky phase (which was swiftly replaced by the moody, Linkin Park listening, too sleep-deprived phase). So my bright T-Shirts and crazy earrings wearing, early 00s teenage stuff has reared her pony-tailed head. The rest of the voices have invited her for tea so I don’t see her moving out any time soon… Somebody stop me if I start wearing neon green eye shadow again.

Anyway, I’m just focusing on the small things because reality is looming uncomfortably close as usual. Unfortunately the part of reality enjoying to breath down my neck is not the one about all the awesome comic book/sci-fi movies coming out or the amazing weather I’ve been having here in Athens or even the pleasure of reading a nice book. No, I’m talking about the kind of reality that’s grey and mundane and stressful and has you looking longingly at the alcohol cabinet. But enough of that! I’ll save the gripping for another post, when I’ll be suitably irritated with the multiverse.

“Ooh, we called it off again last night/ But ooh, this time I’m telling you, I’m telling you/ We are never ever ever getting back together,/ We are never ever ever getting back toge…”

Ooops! Sorry! Started listening to the lyrics while typing. It happens sometimes. You should see some of my seminar notes when a song gets stuck in my head… On another -heh- note the playlist just switched to 22. I have to wonder, what’s with the age-specific songs? I mean, I really like this one (and how convenient for me since I’ll be 22 for a few more months) but I always feel a little bad when I listen to them and I’m not the age they are serenading. Like I’m intruding in someone else’s reality. Which is further proof of my raging paranoia, some might say, but what can you do?

Hmmm, I think I’ll sign off now because I have a tangent/rant brewing in the back of my mind about the Batman vs Superman movie and boy I don’t feel like opening that can of worms again. But for the record, I didn’t like it.

 

P.S. I know live-tweeting is a thing, but is there such a thing, but what about live-blogging? Is that a thing? And how would you go about it?

So…April came a’knocking

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And he found me in a peculiar fugue, dear friend. It would seem that my mood slingshots from hyper-happy to furious to stressed beyond measure (which is accompanied by the urge to burst into tears). In between there are bouts of serenity, usually when I’m curled up in a quiet corner, reading something, or while at a coffee shop, people-watching. I used to despise early 20th century literature for the proclivity of its characters to wax poetic over the futility of existence, yet never actually doing anything to shake things up. Now I fear that this is what my outer existence has become. (My mindscape is as busy, loud and chaotic as ever. And thank gods for that!)

It could be spring blues. Or it could be further confirmation that 2016 is out to screw us over. Whichever school of thought I find myself inclining towards each day (like I said: chaotic mind) I think I’ll aim for more of those peaceful moments. I know that the next couple of years will result in more stress than what is definitely healthy for anyone. So let’s see: maybe if I actually try to find these short retreats I will eventually not feel guilty for taking a break. Maybe even not feel like I’ve wasted my day if I roll out of bed after eight.

Will I still be infuriated by the words “Don’t worry/panic about it”? No doubt. Will I still daydream of trips that I have neither the money nor the time for? For certain. Will I still find any social interaction with people I’m not familiar and comfortable with (and that is a short, short, short list) tedious at best, terrifying at worst? Why are you even asking? But maybe, just maybe, at the end of the day I will also be able to go to bed at night and not feel like I accomplished nothing. Maybe (if I’m very lucky) I’ll be able to look at a person and read their thoughts from their expression, not my projected fears and insecurities. I dream small because I have found that mountain-high dreams only result in crushing disappointment.

After all I could care less about being great. I just want to be happy.

Picnic

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Colourful costumes and wary looks;

Will the weather hold out?

Bags full of goodies,

Last minute shopping trips,

Jokes under the sun,

Waiting for the gang to arrive.

Laughter on the road as we walk,

Jokes and references only we get.

It’s the last few days; this is the end,

So if everything is a little brighter,

If our smiles are a little wider,

What of it?

 

We have our whole lives ahead.

Just let us cling to this past,

Just for a little longer.

The first day of spring

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Some say that spring starts on the first day of March.

Some others say it starts on the Spring Equinox.

Some choose dates, some choose signs,

“Has the hawthorn flowered yet?”

Silly semantics, that’s what I say…

 

Spring starts when the land starts to bloom,

When the sun shines warmly, even as the wind

Shifts from biting bursts to playful nudges.

When the birds sing themselves hoarse

And the market stalls are bursting with colour.

 

If spring is beginnings and not just a time

To shift through your wardrobe for something more light,

Then why set a date when each year is unique?

Turn off those screens, just step outside,

The first day of spring is not something to miss!

How March came to have more days than February

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Once upon a time, back when the world was still fresh and young, and the months barely more than children, things were a lot different than what we know now. Out of the twelve sons of the Time March was the shortest, having been born with twenty-eight days instead of thirty or thirty-one. Not that it bothered him. By the time his turn on the Wheel of the Year arrived people were more eager to prepare for his brother April’s arrival and the actual beginning of spring. March, for all his quick temper, was good-natured at heart and didn’t mind helping the people adjust from his elder brothers’ icy temperaments to the youngers’ warmth and exuberance. So he had a bad habit of dealing frosts with one hand and sunshine with the other. Who could blame him? He was stuck right in the middle!

 

Truth be told, most people didn’t mind March’s changefulness, thinking of him as the actual beginning of spring rather than the more accommodating April. There was one though, one who dislike poor March more than anyone in the world and that was Old Missy. Old Missy lived in a small house at the edge of her village with her two goats and her giant cauldron. She was cheese-maker and there was little she enjoyed more than complaining about everything and everyone around her. None, not even the months could escape her tongue-lashings and she always seemed dissatisfied with something, be it the weather, the children playing near her house too loudly or her poor goats for not giving the right amount of milk.

 

When March found out, he took it upon himself to change Old Missy’s mind. He heard her complaining about the children’s’ noise so he blew cold winds to send them back to their mothers’ hearths. Still the old woman complained.

“Ah March! Fickle March! You blow your cold winds and make my old bones ache. You send the earth back to winter’s sleep, no grass is growing and what will my goats eat?”

 

So March tried again, eager to make Missy happy. He gave her warm, sunny days so that grass would grow for her goats to eat and for her old joints no to hurt. Still the old woman complained.

“Ah March! Fickle March! You grow hot and spoil my milk before I can make cheese. Your sun makes folk and beast lazy and none will come to my house to buy my wares and how will I live with no profit?”

 

Every day for all his twenty-eight days March tried to make the old woman happy. He brought rain to cool the heat, she complained of rheumatisms. He made flowers bloom in her front yard, she moaned the colours hurt her eyes. He coaxed the birds to sing sweetly by her windows, she groaned for the noise that wouldn’t let her sleep. At last the twenty-eighth day arrived. Old Missy sat on her porch and cackled in delight.

“Ah March! Fickle March! There’s still some life left in these old bones! You tried your best but I beat you and lived through all your topsy-turvy weather!”

 

March, exhausted as he was, grew angry. He had tried everything in his power to make Missy happy and still she mocked him. He wrapped himself in a cloud of early-morning frost and off he marched to his elder brother’s icy castle. He found February tending to his snowdrops.

“Brother February, grand me a boon,” March said, as he joined his brother’s gardening efforts.

“If it is in my power, will all my heart,” February answered and another flower bloomed cautiously under his gaze.

“There is an old woman mocking my powers,” March said. “Grant me three days so that I may punish her.”

 

February nodded silently. He knew of Old Missy and of her bitterness. His bad leg had been bothering him a lot more lately. Maybe it would do him good to roam the earth less. So he chose his three coldest days and gave them to March. The younger month thanked him and, armed as he was, stood right over Missy’s house and blew the worst storm that the old woman had ever seen. For three days the wind tore and the rain fell and when April finally poked his mischievous head around the corner, he found the old woman and her goats hiding under the giant cauldron for protection, the house having been completely blown away.

 

Thus February became the shortest month, March gained three days and an old woman learnt the value of silence.

March

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March was marching by a marsh

In a cloak of red and white.

Frost was spread under his feet

And yet the sun shone overhead

His rays of gold too weak

To wake the earth below.

 

Still March was marching

With a jaunty spring,

Coaxing crocuses to rise

And snowdrops pale and

Singing violas and so many

More spreading a carpet in his wake.

 

January sighed and February grumbled

At their younger brother’s whimsy.

April shifted and May twitched

Eager for their time to arrive.

“Back, in the good old days,” they said,

“You had less days to go.”

 

March doesn’t care as he marches along,

Playing a merry tune of frosty wings,

Singing of flowers and of the first fine days.

He stands at the threshold of winter and spring

And no matter how the world complains

He’ll give us the boons of both up until

All Fool’s Day.