Thursday, March 1, 2012
By G. Martin Lindstrom
They say that the day is supposed to correct a problem with our calendar every four years.
The for-bearer of the year of stupid. When the least of us try to become the best of us and then fail every four years.
The people who claim the day as their birthday glory in the fact that they only age one year every four but alas their bodies give away the lie. There is even an association of such souls. I wonder if they have conventions and carry membership cards?
In my mind I always feel that I am slipping into the in-between.
Is it the last day of February or the unwritten first day of March?
I sometimes expect Rod Serling to come out through a cloud of cigarette smoke to announce that time will end on that day. It is over forever. Time will stop on February 29th never to start again.
But then, this morning, March 1st, I realize that it was all a dream. That February 29th never happened.
Of course until four years from yesterday again.