March is hitting me like a sack of potatoes. Now that the fun of
February is over and everyone has gone home, I’m feeling kinda…blah.

It’s
"the February blahs" transposed onto March: they
can’t be avoided, can’t be missed. February’s blahness is cathartic and essential.

But I thought I’d escaped "the February blahs" this year, what with The Gates, the
guests, and all that. There was just too much to do and such good weather.

Monday’s
snowstorm, despite its beauty, made me tire of winter –
the way I usually feel in February. And in a more general way, I am weary and worried; moving blahfully through these first days of March.

February’s eupohoria was real, I think. It seems so
long ago now. I’ve got one of Christo’s orange fabric swatches – a reminder of carefree days with friends and
family. I caress it in my hands to remember the frivolity of those
walks in the Park. Was that just last Saturday?

It had to happen. These blahs. They’re to be expected, even necessary. Yes.

So
maybe everything will be a month off now. The usual hopefulness of
March will be in April, the springiness of April will be in May…etc.

I am on seasonal delay. And that’s why I’m feeling so…blah.

Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB