I'd say that I had spring fever, but I know it isn't spring

I've been coughing non-stop since yesterday afternoon. Perhaps writing that my cough sounds like my mothers' brought about some sort of cosmic intervention, in which I am being forced to acknowledge our similarities and her absence again and again and again.

Or maybe J's right and I have an Upper Respiratory Infection. Could go either way, really. I'm going to see both my therapist and my doctor tomorrow; I'm sure that one of them should be able to get to the bottom of things.

Two posts in a row about coughing- my life is truly fascinating.

It is still bitterly cold here. The kind of cold where the front of your thighs turn numb after walking just a few blocks (in pants and a long coat, mind you- I'm not just frolicking around pants-free and wondering why my legs are chilly). I thought that this winter I was dodging the old S.A.D. blues, but I think they may be beginning to set in. I really want it to be spring, and soon, but eight years of Chicago winters have taught me to know better. I'll have to settle for dreaming or reading of lovely spring mornings, full of crocuses, delicate sunshine and the smell of warm,wet dirt.

I'm thinking of taking J to New Orleans in April, for his birthday. I'd imagine that that's a city where they know how to throw a spring. The first time I went to NOLA was in August of last year, and I quickly found out why any natives with the means leave town in the summer. To say it was hot would be the equivalent of calling the ocean "moist". Heat or not, I fell right in love with that town. It's true southern funk personified- dark and light and rich and poor and good and evil all rolled up and shaken up and completely unapologetic about any of it. Spring time, in particular, seems like it would suit the whole virgin/whore New Orleans vibe: Mardi Gras and Easter, communion wafers and fried oyster po'boys, flowers in the Garden District and naked people in the Quarter. It's all about redemption, the natural progression from debauchery, despair, and death to enlightenment and reawakening- just like spring. Or a Tennessee Williams play.

Right now there's a sunbeam coming in my window and trying to convince me that it's warm outside, that if I just threw open my window I would be greeted by a warm and gentle breeze, redolent of daffodils. Back off buddy- I'm not that naive. I know there's no spring in Illinois. Just snow and coughs fraught with meaning.