..... and I'm not even highly caffeinated this morning.
Jumping out of my skin, however, seems possible. Noticed myself speed-talking to the trainer at the gym at 7:30, to the person making my coffee at 8:30, to my bond-buying colleague a few minutes ago. I can't keep from taking off and re-putting on my shoes while sitting here. So far, multiple laps of walking the office for no reason than to do multiple laps of walking the office. I'm restraining from logging onto OKCupid with hopes of starting up an illict workday chat about unmentionable acts.
Not really any reason to account for this mood
I did just also do a search for the word "restless" on this blog ... .to find that the last time it was used was March 29, 2010 .... almost a year ago to the day.
What is it about the crazy, hazy month of March in my life?
Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote a great tune on the subject, by the way, and it has been recorded by every singer on the planet since 1945. But I'm indulging the Stan Getz/Brazilian samba version of it in an attempt to mellow out:
I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm,
I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string.
I'd say that I had spring fever,
But I know it isn't spring.
I'm starry-eyed and vaguely discontented
Like a nightingale without a song to sing.
Oh, why should I have spring fever
When it isn't even spring?
I keep wishing I were somewhere else,
Walking down a strange new street.
Hearing words that I have never heard
From a man I've yet to meet.
I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams,
I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing.
I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud
Or a robin on the wing.
But I feel so gay,
In a melancholy way,
That it might as well be spring,
It might as well be spring.
Although in this case, maybe it is spring fever.
(Now, if only the temperature would get above freezing, eh?)
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