It did not occur to me until this morning that February will be longer this year. This fact would not have escaped me if I were still a child; I would have been aware and cognisant of this being a leap year on the very first of January. It is, of course, different when you are a child. When childhood is over, however, the days mix into a silky, velvety batter made from the finest of ingredients known to man. An extra day does not seem extraordinary enough to remember, and we only remember it in contexts that are perverse, like a meeting or a deadline, things that, if I may be so blunt, will never matter in the long scheme of things, things that do not matter at all. But a full day, a whole day, is a blessing no matter how you turn it, no matter what light you examine it under.
And yet, what good is an additional day if you cannot use it for breathing and being? I believe the French had it right when they proposed a new calendar which ensured all months were equal, and to account for all the days they took from our dear Januarys and Augusts and their brothers and friends, proposed a new month and a free day at the end. I reckon that would have made sense to those like me, those who work only to be able to write in the morning. I reckon that would have been a wonderful way to end the year. Of course, convincing the entire world of something is not as easy, so we have continued with our twelve months with three hundred and sixty-five and a quarter. But then, what we get is what we get, and if an additional day in February every four years is what’s in the kitty, then we should take it graciously, too, even if the day feels as if it were one out of many, one out of a long series of days to live through. Not that it is a bad thing. This is in no way a complaint over the days I have had or my days in general. I could never complain about this life. I have lost the rights to ever be able to do that. I lost them a long time ago.
Regardless, tomorrow is tomorrow’s concern. Today remains to be lived, and I must get on it now. I believe I made the leap a wee bit earlier than most this year, but then, there has always been impatience in my patience.