California dreamin'

Last night, instead of sleeping like a sensible girl, I watched the Colbert Report. He reported some British psychologist issued a paper about the 24th of January being the roughest day of the year, depression-wise. I hope that’s true. I felt fucking r-u-p-t rough yesterday – ready to burst into tears between 16h and 19h at the slightest provocation and fucking irritable all day. Not Lady irritable, but if-I-stab-this-dick-in-the-face-with-a-pen-will-the-relief-be-worth-the-guilt-and-incarceration irritable. The crappy thing about language classes is the other students, you know what I mean, jelly bean? Especially when you have to work in pairs with one with a selective mental debility about the subjunctive tense.

I had just ascribed the pig-shit feeling to sheer physical and mental exhaustion from the thesis. But then it makes sense that this would be the most physically and mentally exhausting time of year for people generally, what with being broke from the holidays, back at work, plunged in darkness for most of the day, and all the relationships snapping like twigs after people had held out for those few extra soul-destroying months to score Christmas presents. All that physical and mental exhaustion throws you right into the arms of depression, so it would be the most depressing time of the year for most of us I suppose. This is cool, because really I wasn’t all that depressed yesterday. I mean, I wanted to stab other people in the face, not myself, so it’s all good.

So yay. This bitch of a month is almost over, and the short bitches of days are getting longer, bitches. Soon we'll be porting around that sexy sunscreen smell and smoking outside because we want to, and not because we have to. Sooooooon, my pretty. We'll be getting hooled and tanned on our roofs and drinking right from the keg under the stars. Our biggest seasonal worry will be getting badly-placed sunburns or poison ivy rashes while making love in the warm, bright outdoors. The men will strip down. The ladies will start waxing again. The hibernating animals are already twitching in thier sleep, cranky-ass bears are starting to wake up and look for food, and the leopard frogs frozen into the mud at the bottom of the swamps are dreaming up cacaphonous symphonies of sexy song.

And I'll start calling y'all 'sweetie' and 'darling' instead of 'bitch'. Give me time.