April Snow

Every single year I have lived in Boston it has snowed in April at least once. We had such a mild winter I thought this year might be the exception, but no. Snow today - sleet and big fat clusters of flakes. I watched them streak past the window this morning, in long stripes. When I blinked my eyes the flakes and clumps would resolve into discreet white units.

I am hiding under my bright red hat, peeking out like a hedgehog under a flower pot.

I know that doing the thing is always less miserable than worrying about it . . . but . . .

So I fight the urge to go to South America, or even the bookstore, and had better get off the internet and do the things I've been avoiding.

Last night I sang to my cells and they seemed happier.

The question I can't bear to answer to myself is: If I got crushed tomorrow by a giant crane, would my life have been as full as Michael's? I feel very disengaged sometimes and I hate myself for whining when there is so much to do and so much to be happy about.