February
I've always hated February.
28 days and it is the longest month of the year.
Just about every horrible benchmark in my life has come to a head in the month of February. Always swirling around that blood red number 14 in the middle of the calendar commemorating St. Valentine's smiling, decapitated head. Luckily, the last few Februaries have not touched me, personally. But February must have some blood so it has been nibbling on the jugulars of my loved ones while I get to sit as an honored guest at the Colliseum. Fun.
Actually, that's not true. Last February was depressing, but not AS depressing as the year before. Right after I turned 29 I completely fell apart and spent that darkest month bursting into heavy, draining sobs while my son kissed me and begged me to "Feel better Mommy!". There was a day I actually felt myself break. I was walking down Clinton blubbering into the phone that I just couldn't go on and that I was so miserable while I dragged my confused and strangely silent toddler behind me. I was thankful for the silence but when I turned at looked at his terrified face I felt so ashamed that I literally lay down on the freezing sidewalk and howled. My son prodded me helplessly and told me not to cry. It was like one of those horrible moments with Marlon Perkins on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. The mother elephant is dying and the helpless baby is trying to get her back on her feet- as much out of self preservation as out of love. I got up and took my zombie act to the park where the other mothers were none the wiser. I wondered how many of them had ever collapsed on the sidewalk in front of their children? How many of them were broken inside, pouring gallons of coffee on a cold heart split in two?
Being left alone in February is a hard thing to forgive.
So far, this February is going fine for me. I've got a direction and I'll go there directly. But February doesn't let me go without first taking a little nibble out of my ass. February knows where to get me. It will hit my friends and leave me to watch, force me to defend my own shaky definitions of personal boundaries and challenge me to overextend myself. You see, February knows that if I do overextend myself I'll be back kissing that frozen sidewalk.
It's half over. Just a little further and I'll be able to kick it in the teeth and say hello to beautiful, beautiful March.
Hello, March!
28 days and it is the longest month of the year.
Just about every horrible benchmark in my life has come to a head in the month of February. Always swirling around that blood red number 14 in the middle of the calendar commemorating St. Valentine's smiling, decapitated head. Luckily, the last few Februaries have not touched me, personally. But February must have some blood so it has been nibbling on the jugulars of my loved ones while I get to sit as an honored guest at the Colliseum. Fun.
Actually, that's not true. Last February was depressing, but not AS depressing as the year before. Right after I turned 29 I completely fell apart and spent that darkest month bursting into heavy, draining sobs while my son kissed me and begged me to "Feel better Mommy!". There was a day I actually felt myself break. I was walking down Clinton blubbering into the phone that I just couldn't go on and that I was so miserable while I dragged my confused and strangely silent toddler behind me. I was thankful for the silence but when I turned at looked at his terrified face I felt so ashamed that I literally lay down on the freezing sidewalk and howled. My son prodded me helplessly and told me not to cry. It was like one of those horrible moments with Marlon Perkins on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. The mother elephant is dying and the helpless baby is trying to get her back on her feet- as much out of self preservation as out of love. I got up and took my zombie act to the park where the other mothers were none the wiser. I wondered how many of them had ever collapsed on the sidewalk in front of their children? How many of them were broken inside, pouring gallons of coffee on a cold heart split in two?
Being left alone in February is a hard thing to forgive.
So far, this February is going fine for me. I've got a direction and I'll go there directly. But February doesn't let me go without first taking a little nibble out of my ass. February knows where to get me. It will hit my friends and leave me to watch, force me to defend my own shaky definitions of personal boundaries and challenge me to overextend myself. You see, February knows that if I do overextend myself I'll be back kissing that frozen sidewalk.
It's half over. Just a little further and I'll be able to kick it in the teeth and say hello to beautiful, beautiful March.
Hello, March!
posted by Bree O'Connor at 9:45 PM
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