Three Fridays ago, I turned twenty-six. (I can tell that I am getting older because I sometimes forget how old I am. Sometimes, I have to do the math.) It was frigidly cold and windy outside, in the negative windchills that night. I swung by my apartment to grab a few things, then headed right out to a restaurant for dinner. That night I drank a lot, and went to bed quite late, considering I had to get up relatively early for a drive to the Chicago-area on Saturday.

Two Fridays ago started out grey and rainy, but by the time work was done it was glorious - 40s and so so sunny. I stopped to get gas and washed all my salt-covered car windows. When I parked at my apartment building, I wiped down the inside of my car - dash, windowsills, etc - while the doors were opening, listening to music. It felt like spring was here.

Today I left work and had to brush off the snow covering my windshield. When I turned onto my street, the snow atop my car fell forward and down in big sheets, and I had to use the windshield wipers to clear the snow off. I determined that spring was not, in fact, here yet.