It has come to my attention that you still plan on coming around this year, despite my repeated requests that you scram, get out of here, vamoose etc. I swear, I am so over you and you haven’t even reared your stupid, ugly head yet. I’m going to write a list of all the reasons why I hate you and if you still have the nerve to happen anyway, I’ll have no choice but to hide under my duvet for 29 days.
You make me SAD
I’ve been fighting depression for years and even though I mostly have it under control, you come around every winter to remind me that I am still under my mood disorder’s thumb. For an entire dreary month, my seasonal affective disorder leaves me feeling like I have no purpose in life, like I’m lucky beyond what I’ve earned, like I have no good reason to be depressed because I have everything I’ve ever wanted and what good am I, anyway? The cobwebs will fill my brain once more. I’ll start forgetting appointments and I’ll dread seeing my friends. Sometimes I’ll fight your chill dreariness with tanning beds but it doesn’t work that well, and you just laugh as you think they might end up giving me cancer.
You’re so f’n cold. You make me wear socks in the house; sweaters to bed and sometimes you even make toques seem appealing. Let me tell you something; even Brad Pitt looks bad in a toque. Although, apparently no one told him.
Everything looks uglier in February
I have a gorgeous view from my kitchen. In the spring I see budding trees, in the summer their lush greenness makes me feel calm and relaxed and in fall, I’m in awe of the beauty around me. But not now. Now, I see only the skeletons of beauty that once was and isn’t any longer.
Valentines Day is stupid. Before Valentine’s Day 2003, I’d never lost anything, or anyone, I truly loved. But I had a miscarriage that Valentine’s Day and so instead of being about love and romance for me, February 14 will always remind me of horrific grief and the loss of my own innocence. I have three wonderful children and my wound has healed by 13 years of goofy smiles and sticky hugs. But February means tacky blood-red hearts will invade my grocery store and remind my of a tiny heart that stopped beating before I had the chance to hear it.
I don’t want to go for a run
I don’t like to exercise but sometimes running is OK. Sometimes — usually on breezy summer mornings, when I have Dancing Queen playing on my headphones — running is fantastic! But in February, I don’t want to run. Not even when my poor doggy begs me with his sad little face.
Taxes are still coming off our pay
We haven’t maxed out on those stinkin’ federal tax contributions yet and so our pay is smaller. And that sucks.
Stores are uninspiring now
Even shopping sucks in February, no one wants to buy spring clothes yet and winter clothes are just blah after the holidays. So the solace I usually find in the mall, is not really an option.
Twenty eight days, or twenty nine? How long will you stick around this year? You can’t even decide how long to bug me for. And what about all those kids who have a birthday on Feb. 29? You gyp them 75% of the time. You bastard.