It’s May 21 and Mother Nature’s done her whole thing without missing a beat. Flowers are standing at attention and leaves are shading, and everything is going as planned. Even the weather is doing its best job to happily our pandemic PTSD. But what am I doing? What am I thinking about?
Specifically, February, that most miserable of months. You’ve already been battered by January, with its five pound holiday weight gain, fureeezzzing temperatures, harsh wind and white stuff, and boom, in storms (no pun intended) February, forcing us to face another solid month of bone chilling cold, piles of snow, ensuing slush, and days so gray you feel like someone has drained the entire content of blood from every inch of your body. So fun.
Why, why you may ask, am i thinking of February when we have at least another four good weather months to delight us? Why am I not in the moment, all Eckhart Tolle? BECAUSE LAST WINTER WE PLANNED ON GOING TO CALIFORNIA FOR THE UNMERRY MONTH OF FEBRUARY, but instead a little virus prevented us from doing that and instead of just having to endure the ugliness that’s February in New England, we had to do it locked in the house, fearful of going outside, or even to the grocery store, not seeing friends, not doing anything, but working, watching helplessly as the death count rose (my father-in-law included included in that death count) and basically camping out in the den under a myriad of fuzzy blankets, viewing every movie and series that has ever been considered even mildly entertaining or of merit from the beginning of the creation of moving pictures.
So, yeah, I am thinking about February. And I am going to make a plan to vamos outta here to warmer climes right now, because then I can sit back and glory in the summer, my favorite time, all sorts of grateful, because I’ll know I won’t have to endure another February. Because I hate February. And c’mon, even Valentine’s Day all filled with love doesn’t save this loser month.