burn the sun in my skin

          February is blowing past. V-Day sucked up most of my time this last week. After the last show, after we'd wrapped up and organized the last of the auction items, cleared the stage, tore down the tables - I went to work, went to dinner, and the crashed. I slept for fourteen hours. It was absurd and fantastic.
          I'm readjusting to life with more free time. Not much more free time, but some. The plan is to find a job. Seriously.
          I can't believe how quickly the real world is rushing up on me. It's nearing the end of February. Next month is March, and after that April, and after that - graduation. Real life.
          Part of me feels ready. Part of me doesn't.

          I've lost track of time lately. Yesterday at work, hours slid past but ten minutes took an age to go by; if someone had told me it was five at night, I'd have been unfazed, and if they'd told me it was ten in the morning, I wouldn't have found it weird, either. Not having a general sense of the time is one of the worst types of disorientation, I think.

          The weather is sliding back into winter-mode, but my body can't shake the feeling of spring. Sometimes I'm walking around, sitting in class, reading a book, whatever - and I'm struck with this absolute conviction that it's summertime. I get this lightness in my chest, and sort of buoyancy in my throat, and I feel like, if I walk outside, it'll be warm, with the smell of thunder and evening rain on the air. Like, when I open the door or window, I'll be bombarded with the sound of crickets and frogsong. I'm not much of a summer person in general, but right now, I can feel my bones resonating with that warmth, can feel my joints wanting to loosen and stretch.
          But I'm not willing the days to go faster; they're already racing.