Today when I was out and about, I saw a fanny pack. Yes, folks, it was a real, live, fanny pack. Those immoral things from the 80's complete with a buckle to fit on...well...your fanny. I never understood the draw to wear a fanny pack. It's not as comfortable as a belt and actually, due to gravity, probably works to pull your pants down instead of holding them up. It's like the backpack's white-trash cousin with less room for junk in the trunk. It's right up there with scrunchies and pink yard flamingos. I think I actually gasped in horror when I saw it round the corner in the grocery isle.

My father used to have a fanny pack that had space for 2 water bottles flanked on each side. He used to take it hiking and I as a child about hip-height, this thing would swing back and forth on his hips with his stride making maneuvering around him on the trail almost impossible. I could see the clear trail ahead but on every other pace that he took this pack would swing its bottles in my face and threaten a black eye. He would pack this thing like we were going to be stranded for days out in the wilderness and heft it up around his wast like he was bench pressing 100 pounds.

The thing most ironic about the fanny pack is that women will often carry a purse with it. So, I'm guessing they have the fanny pack just as an accessory? Maybe they carry their scrunchies in it.

Am I an annual?

Every other spring I am exited and anticipating the summer. This year, there is a hesitancy in my being. I both love and hate how entwined I am with the seasons. Fall: I am in love with the colors, the long lingering summer days, and the last warm rays I soak up with my bare skin. Winter: I hibernate, sleep way too much, cook lots of warm stews, and hide out under blankets trying to warm my fingers with tea and bourbon. Spring: Normally I can't wait to be outside all day, my fingers stained with dirt before I realize dinner time has come and gone and it's still really too cold to be acting as though it's summer. Summer is my prime: happy all day, face turned upward and smiling straight into the sun; big heavy sighs of the flower's purfumes; berries, berries, berries! It can be exausting being so connected to Mother Nature. But this year...

I dont' know what this hestiancy is quite yet. I feel restless and antsy. I feel my body and soul calling me away from here. Is it May? I feel this endless lingering feeling, and it's not just the season.

If you wake up and I am gone: I've gone south for the sake of my blood.

but, but, BUT:

Could I actually leave? My roots, although delicate and not withstanding the harsh winter are firm and tender. Soul: please give me an answer or SHUT THE HELL UP!!!