Ignoring those reports of a Floridian hard freeze

It's January 8 and I have spring fever. It's officially hit, extra-early this year. Usually, it doesn't really kick in until after Valentine's Day but, you see, we just had a glorious weekend of 64-degree weather. In January. (I even drove with the sunroof open!) Something of a satanic reprieve from the icy temperatures of the last few weeks. It's almost unconscionable to think that there are at least three more months before that kind of weather becomes a regular event.

But then, me rushing the seasons is nothing new. In January, I want to see green buds on the trees and cerulean skies and just the hint of a cool breeze. In May, I want it to be 90 degrees, so sticky that I can't lay on my stomach in the sun for more than five minutes before I have to get in the pool. In August, I just want the leaves to change and the sun to freaking quit it already with its oppressive attitude. I'm usually pretty happy in October. But in November, I want there to be loads of snow and ice - in other words, it better be beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

But now is the time of year that I'm starting to get a little antsy. And allowing myself to wear short sleeves to work yesterday (the warm weather carried over into Monday), in hindsight, was a wee bit stupid. I can be such a tease.

Thank whoever's in charge that I'll be in Florida a week from today.