"...a big manky pile..."

February has come, in all of its grey tyranny. February has a way of beating me down, and it happens every year. I am cold, tired, depressed, and dissatisfied with my life - just like last year at this time.

A Zen teacher once said, "The mind is the terrain, while the mood is just clouds passing overhead." Ok - then it's the fucking monsoon season over my mind. There are dams breaking, houses floating downstream, looters, and FEMA isn't doing a goddamn thing.

February would borrow a thousand dollars from you and then fuck your partner behind your back.

I bought a full-spectrum lamp for Ajax and myself - it's supposed to brighten his tail feathers as well as my outlook. Of course, I sleep in the daytime, and if I leave it on I have these fucked up "sun" dreams. I'm dying in a white sand desert, or I'm blinded by reflections off the ocean. It's hard to wake up feeling rested when you've been unconciously squinting for five or six hours.

February was the gunman on the grassy knoll.

I had a full-scale mope yesterday. I put on my special moping boots and stomped in a big manky pile of my own stinky pitifulness for most of the afternoon and evening. It was a full-court press of self-pity. Seriously repellant. I stayed in bed for hours, hording the warmth under the covers like a python digesting a gazelle. Loathesome.

February eats a veal and whale blubber sandwhich at a joint meeting of PETA and GreenPeace.

I wrenched a muscle in my back this morning pulling my boots on, so I can't really stand up straight. Actually, that's ok though... it gives me an excuse to stumble about campus hunched over and talking to myself like Woody Allen - a big, angry, kilt-wearing Woody Allen.

February refused to give a kidney to a dying blood relative.

This is the long, dark, teatime of my soul. February is serving Earl Grey, and there's no fucking sugar on the table. It's virtually impossible to avoid saying to myself, "Why are you here? You finished your degree last semester, you fucking dumbass!" And I don't even like tea.

I once saw February forcefeed a diabetic a Pixie Stick.

This time of year makes my lab patrons even dumber. Some actual quotes: "Can you help me? I can't cut and paste." (Naturally, it was a PDF...) "The slot thingy ate my stuff..." (The drive was empty. Eventually, we found the disk - in her fucking backpack.) "It won't recognize my USB drive." (That's because you stuck it into the tower for the station next to you, doughass.)

February broke up the Beatles, and then framed Yoko for it.

7 comments:

Big Gay Jim said...

Gawd I love you. So true. So dead bang on. February will do dirty things to you. Without lube. In public.

His Sinfulness said...

I love you too, man... but let's keep that quiet - I haven't told my folks yet.

Modig_Bjorn said...

Damn Linus! I'd hate to hear your thoughts on Valentine's Day. Actually, I think I might enjoy hearing your thoughts on Valentine's Day.

Nerdygirl said...

Wow. It's like every disgruntled academic took over your body and barfed out how February feels.

Nice job.

Emily said...

right on the nail. february can suck my proverbial balls.

Levi said...

Fuck the Beatles.

Fuck February.

Fuck stupid customers.

Fuck work in general.

Fuck the funk of Seasonal Affectedness Disorder.

Mischief said...

February is easier to swallow if you just expect it to face fuck you dry shanked. Low expectations make much bearable :) If you try to make this February the worst possible February ever, then perhaps next year can be an improvement!

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