The robins have returned, and the calendar haughtily declares that spring started weeks ago. I have tickets to a Cubs game in a few weeks, but it wasn't until I finally broke down and bought some Claritin on Saturday afternoon that I accepted the arrival of my third-favorite season.

Truthfully? I'm already fed up with it. I want to skip past the fickle weather and the debilitating pollen and the inevitable heartbreak. Just give me seventy-five degree weather with plenty of sunshine and a steady stream of warm breezes. Give me Blues Fest and Jazz Fest and Ravinia. Let's eat outside for lunch and listen to baseball on the radio in the afternoon. Grab a book and sit with me on the porch swing. My dad will make us fresh lemonade or homemade chocolate malts. If you're not afraid of bees, you can grab some fresh raspberries from the yard to share with the dog.

I will pay $5 to the first person who can deliver summer to my doorstep. Offer ends June 21.

A good friend recently confronted me about the way I talk to and about boys. He pointed out all the blog posts and Twitter updates about imaginary (and, on a very rare occasion, not-so-imaginary) make-out sessions, and how I tend to fantasize about any hot guy who crosses my path. I hadn't really found anything wrong with that before, but it slowly dawned on me what a terrible habit that is to be establishing. Obviously, if I ever nab a boyfriend or (gasp!) a husband, I can't be writing love letters to other cute boys on the internet anymore.

Now, I don't like giving away blog secrets like this, but I never actually wanted anything to happen with Panera Kyle or Cute Tuesday Boy or Hotsauce. It's just that, in my 23 years of being single, I've allowed myself to view plotting out my romantic future as a game. A pathetic, lonely game. Hi, I am destined to be a cat lady, so I might as well imagine having a wonderful life with each lovely guy I pass. After all, that's as close as I'll ever get!

Granted, my head is not full of negative thoughts like that (except perhaps after I've watched a romantic movie). However, it is the mindset I've been operating under for a long time—that it is acceptable to have a wonderful life in the fantasy world I've created in my head even if it's at the expense of my real life. Which, for the record, is also wonderful a lot of the time.

That isn't good at all, whether it's related to the subject of boys or any other part of my life I could imagine improving in some way. I'm grateful for the much-needed wake-up call, since I don't want to be one of those people who spends all my time dreaming and none of my time living. The challenge will be to see if I can carry these thoughts out in a meaningful way instead of just filling up more space on the internet.

What do you think? Have you been living out your dreams or simply dreaming your life away? How likely is it that Elijah Wood will want to help me live out my dreams? Is the Muffin Man immortal, or is it just a title that gets passed along from one man to the next (like the Dread Pirate Roberts)? Discuss.

A crumb has been sitting beneath the G key on my laptop for three weeks now. For much of that time, I have been annoyed and sometimes even angered by its presence. Today, however, I decided to embrace the situation at hand. I welcomed the crumb to the family, named it Gus Gus, and invited it out for a cup of tea.

And then I cackled and promptly drowned the amiable fool.