New York sprung alive this weekend with the scent of spring. Public parks buzzed, brunchers dined on patios, and sunglasses dominated the landscape. Ah, if only it wasn’t but a brief illusion! A momentary reprise!
They say of the month of March that it comes “in like a lion and out like a lamb,” but those in the state of New York know better. In reality, March is “in like a polar bear, then sort of like a seal for a little while—where it’s still pretty cold, but you bake on a warm rock in the sun—then like a stuffed rabbit riding a caribou, then a robin flying back north, then, finally, out like a warm plate of veal.”
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Usually, I’m sort of ready for the weekend to end. Let me be clear: this is NOT because I want to go back to work. Usually I’m ready for the weekend to end because I need to recalibrate my being. Like, you know, stop drinking.
I spoke to a friend of mine this weekend that I consider a life-guru—one of those people who has an infinite reserve of energy and is naturally good at anything they get their hands into. We drank red wine out of empty beer glasses and I voiced my concerns about the “working for the weekend” lifestyle. Like, isn’t there more to life than this?
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