wisteria

Did I somehow not notice in my present resentful state of mind? Or did the wisteria really just bloom between the time I left for school and the time I returned?



I mean, it's pretty: purple flowers drooping in bunches that remind me of ripe grapes. I know my trees (well, rather shoddily for a School of Forestry graduate) and garden vegetables (ditto), but Jess can tell you, I don't know my flowers. This is my first time seeing wisteria. My previous introduction to the word came from Desperate Housewives, and because of that, I expected a showy flower without much substance. Bold colors and glabrous petals. It isn't, though.



I can't explain - even to myself - my mood this week. Spring is in full force, and I was waging some sort of personal strike against the world, refusing against reason to let it in. Alright, I was dragging my feet back into this teaching routine, but only petulant children keep the tantrum up after they know they've lost. I wasn't getting out of teaching, I knew that; I was going to show up for work every single day like always. So why refuse the beauty outside? Was I afraid it would warm me up and win me over? Did I just want to wallow some more?

I don't like to think this is characteristic of me. Perhaps I am too harsh on myself. Why am I writing about this? Because I want to expose the weakness, shame it into nonexistence! Because I can't believe I spent a whole week in this state. Come ON, Lily, kick it!