Not that there's anything wrong, per se, with January. Well, actually, there is, at least when I'm in my politically incorrect, un-evolved, crabby girl frame of mind.
Shall we count the horrifications of January?
1. The holidays are over but the cookie-induced weight gain lingers on.
2. The holidays are over but the house is not yet totally stripped of holiday stuff and it feels cluttered (yes, I can deal with this, and I will, but not today!).
III. The holidays are over and the kids are back at school and I have no further excuses for ignoring the blinking cursor on the blank screen.
D. The holidays are yes, you know, and outside it's a monochromatic blah of rain and clouds and grey sky and drizzle and gloom and dark and ick.
Five. The holidays are blah blah blah and the wind is screaming around the house and it's so cold I can't get up the courage to go outside for a run and also: See Item 1, about cookies and fat thighs, which means on top of everything else, I feel guilty for not getting more exercise, and I keep thinking about that last batch of ginger snaps sitting in the freezer.
So what we have here is a vicious cycle of despair, cabin fever, frigid-wind-induced earaches, and general low mood. Nice, huh? Makes you wanna hang out with Mrs. Ditter, doesn't it?
During my annual Holiday Conference Call with my three sisters, I mentioned that when I die, if it happens to be at the end of January, I will be furious. I mean, really. To go through that stinker of a month and THEN die? That's just adding final insult to ultimate injury.
Which leads me to another reason I hate January: I lost a brother in January, 30 years ago. Believe me, I've worked on being grateful for the terrific person he was, and remembering the funny and outrageous things he did and said, and telling stories about him to my kids, and laughing about him with my best friend, but even after all these years, it still hurts. After 30 years! Part of me wants to sit down and cry, and part of me is just shaking my head, amazed that after all this time, the deep feelings of grief can still--briefly, thank you God--overwhelm me.
I think about him a lot in January. I'm sure he would just laugh at me for still being angry that he died before he hit 25. And that he would urge me to stop stalling and get on with whatever is next on my list. And that he would remind me that life is short (and who knows that better than he?) and I'm not getting any younger. And really, who knows that better than I? See Item 1, above, for further proof that the old metabolism ain't what it used to be and that the once-fine machine is slowing down.
There may come a time when I don't hate January quite so much. I am not holding my breath for that time to show up.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cookies to hunt down.
As always, if you have any questions for Mrs. Ditter, feel free to leave them in the comments section, below. Anonymity allowed! Comments encouraged. Thanks for reading.