Spring

I hate sitting in the office when I hear the birds outside and feel the warm breeze teasing me through the open window.

I lose all my motivation to do any work, not that I was doing any to begin with, since I am blogging...but the point is, the sun puts me in such a good mood that I don't want to waste it on my coworkers. I'm see them more than I see my family, and for thatreason they usually only get the worst of me. Kidding, they get good parts sometimes too, but I'd rather be outside then in here with them.

I'm positive I have that sunlight depression thing. I'm a sun child, even if it gives me migraines lol. You just feel better. I'm even kind of a morning, well late morning person in the spring and summer months. I feel recharged, inspired, motivated and flirty.

It's twitterpation time. If you don't know that word brush up on you Bambi terminology. lol.
Twitterpation time is when people you don't like don't ruin your day like they would if it was cloudy outside. Guys, even busted ones, start to look sort of attractive, and you want to feel all lovey and shit. Good feeling. Kind of dangerous, because you never know what kind of trouble it'll get you into. Makes good stories for later though... Twitterpated is different from infatuated though, so don't get it twisted. Infatuated is three shades lighter than obsession, but twitterpated is not like that. It's kind of like a brief crush, but you can be twitterpated in anything, not just people. It's like the warm feeling you get when you drink hot chocolate, or the refreshing feeling you get when you drink iced tea for the first time in cold or warm weather. That ahhhh feeling. The feeling that the world is indeed a good place, and shit happens, but you can move past it. The soft smile you feel when you see new flowers coming up, the giddy feeling you get when you're excited about something. All that is twitterpated lol. Ahhhh...everyone do it with me...take a deep breath, think about something that makes you smile and go Ahhhhhh. (not like a scream but like a satisfied sigh.)

Through primrose tufts,
in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot measure,—
But the least motion which they made
It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

(William Wordsworth, Written in Early Spring)