February + March = Farch.
I hate Farch.
According to the calendar, Farch is only 59 days long, which makes me wonder why it FEELS LIKE 2 YEARS???
Farch is never a happy time for me. Let me count the reasons why…
- I hate winter.
- I hate short days (wake up: it’s dark, finish work: it’s dark).
- I hate the lack of sunlight.
- I hate bundling 47 layers on my body to head out to my driveway.
This year Farch decided to really fark with me though. Because this year Farch meant travel. Lots and lots and lots of travel.
I was home 28 days and away 31. And I still managed to buy a house – from across an ocean – and 5 hours ahead.
No wonder I’m tired.
And hungry. (Well, I’m not sure my travel schedule explains my perplexing hunger these past few weeks, other than anxious eating. Or self-soothing with comfort foods.)
Upon my return from Atlanta a week ago Friday, I declared a self-imposed travel moratorium. NO TRAVEL UNTIL MID APRIL!!, said I. It helped that Mr. Enthusiasm reminded me that I actually HAD to be here this week to deal with things like the bank and lawyer, etc.
Because, oh yeah, I’M MOVING ON MONDAY.
Excuse me while I drown my sorrows in a bag of corn chips, won’t you?
Fark off, Farch!