If it’s really spring, why am I so pessimistic?

Shouldn’t I be optimistic right about now?

After all, it’s the season for optimism, for renewal, for gentle breezes and green trees.

Pardon this tired old pun, but shouldn’t I have a “spring” in my step?

For Pete’s sake, baseball’s opening day is almost upon us. I should be looking forward to the promise of a new season, of spending the next six months following the Washington Nationals with my 15-year-old son, yet here I am with a bad case of pessimism.

I could chalk up my mood to another lottery failure. Last Tuesday night, I was gunning for the huge Mega-Millions prize. At $414 million, it was the third-largest in the game’s history. Not surprisingly, I was disappointed.

While my ticket found a home in the trash can after the drawing, it came out later that one of the two lucky winners bought theirs at a liquor store outside Washington, D.C., in suburban Maryland. The store is across the street from where a friend of mine buys his tickets.

That’s probably as close as I will ever get to lottery glory, but I don’t think that’s why I’m feeling pessimistic. It’s more likely it has something to do with the yard.

Each spring, I put myself under considerable pressure to actually grow grass. And, each spring I fail. One glance at my yard will tell you all you need to know about my green thumb.

I’ve tried everything to get grass to grow where only weeds dominate. And, when I say I’ve tried everything, I mean EVERYTHING.

Well, everything except spreading seed before a snowfall.

In an effort to spare my wife the ignominy of having the worst lawn in the neighborhood again, I took a shot in the dark and decided to see if what I’ve read on the Internet is right about snow and grass. I got home from work last Sunday afternoon, raked the yard, got my spreader out and seeded it just before it was supposed to snow.

I like the idea of using snow to my advantage. It’s supposed to hide the seed from hungry birds. And then when it melts, to encourage the seeds to snuggle into the ground, where they will hopefully germinate and make my wife happy.

I have no idea if it will work, but it’s a trick some people swear by.

Others, not so much. One friend of mine told me not to waste my time. Another flatly said the seed would wash away.

The naysayers have me worried, but only time will tell if the cold snow that fell actually bore the warm embrace of life.

With my luck though, I just wasted a $100 bag of seed.

If it’s not the uncertainty of growing grass that’s sparked my spell of pessimism, and not my long string of losing lottery numbers, then what is it?

I’m probably over-thinking this. It’s most likely something simple. And, now that I consider the possibility, the more convinced I am that my malaise is the weather’s fault.

Forecasters seem to think we’re in line for some more snow this week. If the weather headlines for the east coast are to be believed, a “Nor’easter bomb” is a possibility.

If conditions are just right, forecasters say the storm could sock parts of New England. But even though it’s supposed to largely spare the Mid-Atlantic, where I live, the mere mention of a little more snow is enough to make anyone pessimistic that spring will ever truly take hold.

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If it’s really spring, why am I so pessimistic?

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