The clock read an hour later than it should have, and it seemed that the calendar read a month earlier than it should have. According to the clock, it was 8:52 am, and according to the calendar, it was March 12. But this just did not seem to click in my mind.
My body chose to nestle deeper into its cocoon of a bed, denying the possibility that this is the weather I was awakening to in the middle of March. My open windows invited in the smell of rain and gusts of cold wind that I thought we had survived the whole winter without. The outfit I had picked out for a warming spring day was no irrelevant, and my mind tried to sleep away the terror of the frigid temperatures intruding through my cracked window. It is as if March realized January never got a chance and decided to let her take over for a few days. My sweaters were shoved in the back alcove of my closet--this was all just a hassle.
And then, it beckoned me. The noise that can awaken me on the worst of days: the coffee pot. The water began to steam as it heat up and finally the noise of coffee dispensing into the pot permeated throughout the apartment, and it almost entirely shut out the intruding cold air from my mind.
The smell of that sweet vanilla candle freshly lit mixed with the aroma of the dispensing hazelnut coffee radiated from the kitchen to my bedroom in the back corner. For some, this combination of scents sounds gross. For me, it smells like home.
Coffee in hand, the aroma of the candle following me, I trekked back to the back corner of the apartment to dig through the black hole that is my closet to find a thick sweater to accompany me throughout this day.
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