The first of March — or March the first for my American friends — always feels weird. My body is attuned to thirty or thirty one day months. A couple of days of long overtime, or some bad sleep, and that one day difference disappears in a Gregorian fog.

But the end of February comes and goes by so fast, even in leap years affording us an extra day. I feel like we should still be there, basking in the fading but still warm vibes of new year promise. February feels nice.

Maybe it’s because I get a year older in March, and February ending abruptly brings it forward just that much faster! The joke’s on it though, because it means I can revive my decade-old pointless milestone tag in announcement of this month’s commencement.