Typically, spring is my most favoritist season ever. I get giddy with the excitement of it all, and have been known to burst into laughter at the sight of a budding cherry tree.

This year, however, I seem impervious to spring’s influences. My first theory is that this is due to the exceptionally mild winter we had this year. It just never got grisly in Seattle. There were very few Seasonal Affective Disorder moments. February was almost completely sunny. Perhaps my spring excitement is partially just glee at emerging from the winter doldrums.

My secondary theory is that it’s because I’m so overwhelmed by my own life this spring that I don’t have time to marvel at the season. Basically, that I have so many things to be excited about that I don’t have any enthusiasm left for the season.

I sat on the bus this morning starring down a tree unfurling its leaves, waiting for the giddy excitement to hit. But it never did. Strange.