SPRING

Deborah Biancotti, guest blogging

Spring, damn Spring, it's an itch. I can't think in Spring, can't focus, can't not move (restlessly). Can't settle.

In Spring I am too aware of my skin and every little thing. I am too awake.

This Spring morning: I was thirsty. I was bored. I got up from my desk and walked in the (damn Spring) sunshine to my regular coffee spot and -- unable to decide between my usual mocha coffee or a diet coke from the fridge -- ordered both. Not that caffeine was what I needed. I already had the jitters. Maybe I thought if I filled in my natural shivers with caffeinated ones, I'd smooth out.

While I waited, restless, shifting from foot to foot, I scanned the breakfast bits lined up like a colourful army in front of me. Friands and almond horseshoes and ham-and-cheese-on-turkish-bread and more. I wanted a bite out of all of them.

Beside the obligatory banana bread (cut thick, perfect for toasting and serving under melted butter) was a sweet, sticky, pale yellow loaf of mango & coconut bread. I imagined it caramelising under a grill and cursed them for leaving it where I could see it and want it. But I've long learned to outwit myself. In my pocket was just enough change for the caffeine. I would have to give something up to have the bread.

And Spring, stupid, stupid Spring, made it impossible to decide.

So I trudged back with my hands full of hot and cold running caffeine and all that damn Spring hanging heavy in the air above me. Spring fattening up the morning light and making everything beautiful, even the spill of coffee foam through a small gap in the cup's lid. Even the guy in the light blue t-shirt jogging across the sidewalk in front of me, even the oblivious, slouching kid who almost elbowed me in the gut at the lights. Even that grungy second-hand record store on the corner. Even that. All beautiful, all distracting, all desirable, all potential. All dissatisfying. All adding to the itch, the delicious season of discontent, that made me want to eat the very air.

Deborah Biancotti lives and writes in Sydney, Australia, except for the times when it's impossible to write because everything is so distracting. You can find other online consumption at http://deborahbiancotti.net and http://www.livejournal.com/users/deborahb.