I’ve survived February — barely. Is it just me or does that month have a kind of Napoleon complex? By the end of the shortest month, I’m out of whack. My hair is a bundle of dried wheat. I have scales and flakes where my human skin once was. My body aches all over from trying to collapse within itself like a matryoshka doll for warmth. I’m stuck in “cry at everything, including laundry detergent commercials” mode. I think I’ve got some cleaning up to do; how about you? Here’s my list of chores:

I’m throwing out the seven garbage bags of resentment and ill-wishing that have been collecting by the door.

I’m making space in my closets to switch out nagging worries for unexpected joys.

I’m beating out the dusty assumption that I’m not meeting people’s expectations.

I’m giving my creativity a fresh coat of paint.

I’m donating the people and things in my life that don’t fit me, won’t ever fit me, to Goodwill.

I’m Swiffering away the suspicion that I’m not that smart.

I’m composting the random fear that people are mad at me all the time.

I’m rewiring my sense of adventure.

I’m letting some light into the rooms where I can learn from my mistakes without beating myself up.

I’m power washing the windows into what comes next.

I’m polishing up my friendships — old and new.

I’m recycling my flattened stacks of cardboard commitments that I don’t keep.

I’m recaulking my determination to get the work done, no matter how hard it gets.

And I’m getting the cat hair off of everything. Once and for all.

Photo By Anna Carson Dewitt

Happy spring!