I hate January.
I hate January.
Screw January. Screw all these New-Year-New-Leaf promises. Screw barren trees and slushy roads. Screw being up and working before dawn and not getting home till after dark. Screw cabin fever and winter chills. Screw it all.
I love December, and not just because it's my birthday month. I love Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Yule. I love the anticipation of a white Christmas. I love carols and decorations. I love tinsel, holly, and strings of Christmas lights along the eaves of old houses. I love the idea hacking down trees to bring inside, because how insane of an idea is that? I love holiday sweaters knit ages ago. I love photo Christmas cards. I love wrapping paper. I love shopping on Christmas Eve. I love the feeling of everyone loving everyone, even if it's only for a month.
I like February. It's a cute month. It's dainty, like a petit-four. Everything is pink in February, and though Valentines isn't my favorite holiday it holds a place in my heart because its theme color is pink. I love pink.
I hate January.
People are grumpy in January. In December people have so much hope for all the New Years resolutions they're going to make. They're going to diet more, they're going to donate more, they're going to save more. Then January comes, they break their resolutions by the end of the first week, and they spend the rest of the month hating themselves for their lack of willpower. Self-loathing is not how I think a good portion of the population should start the new year.
By January the clean new snow of December has been replaced by the gray driven-snow of suburban life. Schools no longer cancel or delay due to the threat of snow, and kitchen floors can't seem to stay clean of the salty slush. I mop my kitchen more in January than any other month. The snow keeps falling, but by early morning the plows have been through, turning over the clean snow and replacing it with chunks of sand and ice. The daily commute takes twice as long, and the coffee doesn't seem to be nearly as strong.
Oh, God, I hate cabin fever. The feeling of being cooped up, shut in, and held down. The lack of freedom, be it from the weather, work, or family. In January, it seems, nothing can cure it. Vacations seem ages away. There's not enough money to go around. It's too cold to even run away.
January sucks.
Is it February yet?
Screw January. Screw all these New-Year-New-Leaf promises. Screw barren trees and slushy roads. Screw being up and working before dawn and not getting home till after dark. Screw cabin fever and winter chills. Screw it all.
I love December, and not just because it's my birthday month. I love Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and Yule. I love the anticipation of a white Christmas. I love carols and decorations. I love tinsel, holly, and strings of Christmas lights along the eaves of old houses. I love the idea hacking down trees to bring inside, because how insane of an idea is that? I love holiday sweaters knit ages ago. I love photo Christmas cards. I love wrapping paper. I love shopping on Christmas Eve. I love the feeling of everyone loving everyone, even if it's only for a month.
I like February. It's a cute month. It's dainty, like a petit-four. Everything is pink in February, and though Valentines isn't my favorite holiday it holds a place in my heart because its theme color is pink. I love pink.
I hate January.
People are grumpy in January. In December people have so much hope for all the New Years resolutions they're going to make. They're going to diet more, they're going to donate more, they're going to save more. Then January comes, they break their resolutions by the end of the first week, and they spend the rest of the month hating themselves for their lack of willpower. Self-loathing is not how I think a good portion of the population should start the new year.
By January the clean new snow of December has been replaced by the gray driven-snow of suburban life. Schools no longer cancel or delay due to the threat of snow, and kitchen floors can't seem to stay clean of the salty slush. I mop my kitchen more in January than any other month. The snow keeps falling, but by early morning the plows have been through, turning over the clean snow and replacing it with chunks of sand and ice. The daily commute takes twice as long, and the coffee doesn't seem to be nearly as strong.
Oh, God, I hate cabin fever. The feeling of being cooped up, shut in, and held down. The lack of freedom, be it from the weather, work, or family. In January, it seems, nothing can cure it. Vacations seem ages away. There's not enough money to go around. It's too cold to even run away.
January sucks.
Is it February yet?