Farch, as its name denotes, is not a pretty time of year. It’s the general period between February and March when it’s no longer winter but not quite spring. There’s no blanket of freshly fallen snow, nor are the birds chirping or the trees budding; instead, there’s just grey — grey skies, grey streets, grey slush and grey, grey souls.
One way to get over this mid-season hump is to convince yourself that, as a matter of fact, spring is practically here! How, you ask? Fill your home with tulips and Cadbury Creme Eggs, get a head start on Daylight Savings and turn your clock forward an hour, start training for that 10 km run in May — which is basically, like, tomorrow — and finally, kick off those salt-stained boots, toss that ugly scarf your girlfriend knit you for Christmas and turn down the thermostat!
At least, that’s what I’m doing (the thermostat, I mean… I’m too in love with my salty but so comfortablicious boots). As of today, the temperature in my apartment will be no higher than 20 degrees (that’s 68 F). To some, that may seem like nothing, but when your circulation has been on strike since ’79, it means it doesn’t take much before hands, feet and noses are frozen. But I’m sucking it up, pulling on a sweater and continually reminding myself of the drowning polar bears who thank me.