Hope Might Spring Eternal, But Spring's Not Springing

I heard the weather guy saying we might get up into the 40s over the weekend and my daffodils are trying, but look at how yellow their leaves are.  That can't be good.  There's one little brave crocus up and quite a few other hints of tops out there along the (south facing and brick wall backed) front of the house, but I gotta tell you spring ain't springing.  No way, no how.  They can run all the garden centered stories they want on the morning news but that won't change the fact that it barely gets above freezing during the day and hits the teens at night.  The glacier at the end of the driveway, while slightly smaller due to sun depredation, is still firmly stuck to the pavement and holding its own.  Bah.

I had three actual customers yesterday, paying ones.  It's so much nicer to start the day in the black rather than having to pay out pool fees and begin in the red.

I clipped a couple of the balloons this morning and enjoyed the crackle as the rubber (or plastic or whatever they're made of) pulled away from the dried stiff string/yarn.  I'm not thrilled that the red balloon tinted parts of the white string pink but they're... okay.  Maybe I'm not creative or clever enough to wind the gluey stuff in pretty designs but this is not something I'll do again.  Ever.  Nope, sorry, not doing it.  It's too messy for a disappointing outcome.

Last night wasn't a writing night.  Again.  I'm kind of nervous about not writing, not feeling able to write.  I've signed up for a week-long writing workshop in May at The Clearing (mostly, I confess, to spend a spring week in the woods) and that means I'll have to write something every day for five days.  Eek.  Perhaps I'll double down in April, find a National Poetry Writing Month-type list of prompts, and lever up some writing to flop on the page.  To let it lie there like a dead thing, I'm afraid, but everyone has down times, right?  Right???

I'm off to... something.  
--Barbara