February is strange. It makes me nauseous. There is usually a hint of spring and a blizzard to suffocate you. It's filled with love. And hate. It seems its really about suffering and pushing through the last of winters crying. March is more of a surrendering of coldness and a warming of the winds, but February's something else. I cant wait for the change. Ironicaly I seem happy in this picture. I suppose it's my photo-face (you know, the one we all put on for the camera no matter what we feel. Just so who ever looks at the picture years later thinks 'Oh, he seems so happy!').
