See ya sucka. Goodbye to February

crocusI’m not going to lie. I hate February. Its right up there with celery, support tights in a size too small (the mid thigh gusset bridge, amiright ladies?) and ATM card rejection.

February is the month when hope goes to die. Its cold. The snow which we welcomed with glee in November is now just an aggravation that stands between you and clean floors, and did I mention its still cold? Valentines day is a vague remembrance of a hangover, and the only ‘holiday’ to look forward to is … Easter? A non holiday that isn’t exactly associated with fun, frivolity and parties unless you’re 6 and get excited about eggs.

February is the point of the year when you realize your Christmas excesses are going to take a little longer to pay off. Those holiday appetizers are still bulging over your skinny jeans and you’re going to be needing those SSRIs for at least another month or two. 3 or 4 months of indoor living has turned you into a flaky dry pale moonface and you think you can actually see the blood moving through those skim milk white legs of yours. You can’t get motivated to do anything but the pervasive sense of restless boredom seems to fill every weekend.

(NOTE: Skiers and winter sports enthusiasts .. suck it. You like fluorescent clothing way too much and your relentless desire to be cold and covered in snow is beyond comprehension. Clearly you were dropped on the head as a child)

The movies are crap, the weather is crap, the holidays are ridiculous non events (unless you’re selling mattresses or candy) and face it.. if you slept for the entire month.. what would you miss? The SAG awards?

I’m seriously thinking of going for one of those ‘sleep therapy’ cures in Switzerland next year. Wire me up to some vitamins and put me in a coma for February. Wake me up for March. No-one will miss me except my pharmacist.

But -hark- around the corner, I hear the cries of angels, a trumpeted chorus of crocus and daffodils twining with chirps from happy wrens. Why.. its March!

March. It just sounds fat, solid and purposeful. Its a motivated and  ‘take charge’ kind of month. It says ‘screw you’ to that pussy that is February, and kicks that withered skeleton to the curb. March takes a seat and blasts out the dog hair from under the sofa, highlights your dusty windows and fills you with the urge to restock your 409 supplies.

March says ‘shape up fuckers’ and its not taking no for an answer. So it might snow one day and hit 65 the next, March doesn’t care. Its says ‘stop whining’ and kicks your butt out the door. Suddenly ‘outside’ becomes a destination instead of a torture and whats this? Green things? Wow… outside is actually enjoyable, not something to be dodged as you run between house and car. The sky even looks friendlier.. instead of something you scan every hour looking for signs of the next polar vortex.

Sure, heat, BBQs, a tan or even just a warm evening is still 4 or 5 months away but March tells us to stop being a wuss and get something done. Me, I’m already writing my list and getting my bike tuned. Hell, I might even break out some Lycra this weekend.

Fuck you February. March is arriving tomorrow and he’s taking no prisoners.

Hell, I might even go on a date to celebrate.

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