Winter isn’t over yet, to my unending dismay. There’s more snow on the ground than is at all reasonable, and I still have a space heater toasting my toes.

And yet, when I saw the word “autumn” earlier today, I was instantly depressed, dreading the season. Yes, I am dreading autumn when it hasn’t even gotten to spring yet. My rationality should be legendary for its great, galumphing absence.

Of course, I’m 38 years old and I still get a sad little twinge whenever I see back to school sales, so at least I’m consistent.