After three consecutive days of temperatures above 60 and no fog, rain or grey days, my tired cranky blood is starting to stir. Spring is in the air; good old Spring Awakening.
I find myself craining my head more often on my bicycle. I find myself delightfully preoccupied with the mystery of precisely what moves under a woman from Oklahoma's shirt at a bar, with the space defined between the lower cuffs of a backpack toting girl's khaki shorts at the coffee shop, with the swirl of hair, flash of teeth, curve, flex or sparkle. Whatever it is, I find myself noticing.
At the moment it's kind of maddening. I simply don't have the human resources to pursue anything resembling a conventional relationship, and it seems I lack the savvy to slide into an easy coupling. The rules of engagement are mysterious and unknown here in San Francisco. Frank confirms this; New York women are different. In the parlance of our times, I have no game.
That said, it feels good to feel. The buzz is back in a lot of ways, and I'm glad that my glands are all in order. I'd begun to worry a bit about the creeping must of an extremely overworked winter. Hopefully this spring and summer I can improve my physical condition, find more creative outlets, and maybe even make out a tad, weather permitting of course.
