cyaluminus

Today was tremendous. The most meteorologically beautiful day I've been in quite some time. It was warm (slightly uncomfortably so, perhaps), sunny, with clouds scudding across the sky. I've never really properly understood that idiom, but I'm sure that that's what it was doing today.

And, as the sun set, the sadness of spring set in. It felt like spring several days ago, but I was riding high then. Now, I'm more susceptable. And, moreover, there was the added olfactory element. It smelled like spring today. Sweet and clean, warm and damp.

I have, in the past, produced a number of powerful psychological associations based on smell, mostly from my childhood. A certain candle, one kind of soup (I can never remember which one). And, for the last several years, spring.

As with most painful associations I've had to deal with since then, this one has to do with a girl. Well, perhaps a woman. And perhaps that's the problem. I was 15. She was turning 19. I'm not one to throw around the "R" word (you know, the one that isn't a joke [which also isn't a joke {which is certainly not a joke}]), so out of deference I will limit my claim in this arena to the assertion that I was extensively manipulated. At any rate, after a time, I came to look back on the affair with much less fondness, as with any stimulae (viz. the more striking elements of spring time) which are strongly reminiscent.

Thus, my great mood, which I was hoping would get me through at least Wednesday afternoon, has broken early, thanks to the springtime evening which must needs follow the springtime afternoon.

I need a distraction (read: romantic interest).