Saturday, February 1, 2014

The Second Unnamed Month

A quote to start:

"They say that February is the shortest month, but you know they could be wrong.
Compared, calendar page against calendar page, it looks to be the shortest, all right...
However more abbreviated than its cousins it may look, February feels longer than any of them. It is the meanest moon of winter, all the more cruel because it will masquerade as spring, occasionally for hours at a time, only to rip off its mask with a sadistic laugh and spit icicles into every gullible face, behavior that quickly grows old.
February is pitiless, and it is boring."
- Tom Robbins

Um, yes. Exactly. I hate February. And not just because it is the dumbest jerk of all time, even though it so is. I hate how cold it is. I hate how i have to wait four weeks for this turd of a month to be over so it can be my birthday. The only reason to be glad it exists at all is so that March isn't bumped up the line and made to house this bleak weather and all over shitty clump of days. It has never been my favourite or even close. Also, giant sports day for maniacs is usually in February. In 2004 it was on the first. Exactly 10 years ago today Janet Jackson's nipple popped out. I remember it perfectly - not her nipple, the moments it happened in. I had a fever, a very high fever, and was sitting on a couch in a basement in McHenry, techincally Volo, Illinois.
The sportsing was over and musicing was on. My fiancé had gone to do something somewhere while the ball was still. The was why i was awake; i could only sleep if he was holding me. So i watched that back street guy and Michael's sister doing their thing. I was so out of it - sweaty, tired, miserable. The nipple appeared and i sort of thought, did that happen or is my fever spiking again? When Jason (that's not his name) came in i mumbled about the boob thing and he was all, "You're weird." And then i was all, "Hey man, i think i peed." And he's like, "It doesn't smell like pee. I think you're sweating a way lot. That's just, like, a lot of sweat. You should go to bed." So, he came and laid down with me.
That was the last good time i ever had with him. Shit hit the fan hours later. Hospital, puking, catheders, lost fluid, pain meds, 3 days, induction, epideral, delivery, surgery, recovery. Funeral.

Depression, infidelity, anxiety, anger, hatred. There was no wedding. There was nothing anymore. I didn't know who i was. It started in February and by May, who i was was gone. I get scared every year that it's going to happen again.

So fuck that ground hog and that super bowl and super fuck Valentine's Day. Fuck leap years. Fuck tricky moons and ice and sunshine. The whole month is a crap shoot.

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