I am always both happy and hesitant every Spring as the season rolls from Winter into more pleasant shit. I normally don’t bitch too much about the weather, except when that frozen white shit falls out of the sky. We don’t like that so much. Other than that, I’m normally quite chill about whatever is happening. Rain bothers me little because I’m too lazy a landscaper and gardener to not appreciate it. Hey, free water!
No, what concerns me about the season change isn’t weather, nor are allergies the root of my problem. In 43 years, I have found absolutely nothing I’m allergic to whatsoever except stupid fucktards. Spring is truly awesome, notably here in Kansas, because it’s a lot of shockingly beautiful days strung end to end, and this goes on for a while before the humidity rolls in and crushes the life out of you. Granted, Kansas is nothing like say, Georgia, but it’s all in what you’re used to at the moment, right? Right.
My problem goes back to … *thinks hard* … a long time back. I noticed that I stopped sleeping regularly every Spring. Why? No idea, but this problem built into epic proportions into my mid 20’s, when the issue spilled over into Fall, which was my hint. I once entertained the notion that the Daylight Savings shift had something to do with it, but clearly a one-hour shift cannot fuck you up for weeks on end. Circadian rhythms adjust, thankfully, or as a veteran Army business traveller, I’d be perpetually zombified.
At one point, I slept about three hours in every four or five days. Total. Then I’d crash in epic fashion and recycle. This happened for about five consecutive years, and I had started to dread the onset of March every year, knowing what torture awaited me. Anyway, my maturer years have brought a lot of relief, and at this point I have a few sleepless nights after the Vernal Equinox (get the connection here yet?) and then mainly just some odd shit, like ‘wake up in the middle of the night for no reason’ shit. Most of the time I can go back to sleep.
Even now that I have the internets (thank you, Mr. Gore, you effete douchebag) an explanation for all this defies me. Admittedly, I have less urgency in locating an answer than before, thank goodness. A few years back a friend suggested that some throwback caveman gene in my DNA activated and was causing this bizarre stuff. I don’t know why he got that idea, but I think it may have had more to do with me shaving my forehead than it did with my sleep pattern.
So here’s to you, Vernal Equinox. Fuckin’ bring it, bitch.