January Blues

Readers of this blog will notice there has been a certain lack of activity recently. While it would be possible to put this down to the fact that I have completely engrossed myself in a fantasy world, becoming withdrawn, anti-social, nocturnal and wearing a constant hunted expression, I can assure you that neither Skyrim nor vampires are to blame. The reason for the lack of anything post is, quite honestly, the lack of anything to post about.

Now, I could offer some opinions of Michael Gove and his on-going struggle to shed his human skin and bask in the night-black glow of wilful manevolence. I could explain how I was recently showered with glass and bacon caused by a kitchen-explosion whilst attempting to cook a lasagne - an experiment that resulted in a near-death experience. I could write about the frivalous nature of art and it's scourge on humanity, or why Christmas is simply the most depressing time of the year*.

As you can probably tell, I'm not going to.

Instead, I'm going to have to hold my hand up and say that I've got nothing to write because nothing has happened. I'll retrace my steps to the last post, where I suggested banning January altogether. We just have to admit that it is a worthless month, designed to fill space on a calander and to spare February the embarrassment of having less days than everyone else.

First, there's the climate. The weather is not bad, it is malicious. Wilfully so. It maintains cuttingly cold temperatures but offers nothing much in the way of hard evidence. No snow, no ice, no rampant sabre-cats or howling wolves. And definitely no comfort. Somehow, you don't remember December being this cold, and December is definitely winter because it has Christmas in it, right?

Speaking of Christmas, there's the four-week hangover. Everything is just suddenly fuzzy, confusing and generally worse than it was previously. You're broke and the pay-days are too far apart. You have to go back to work. You've eaten too much rich food and are probably fatter and more sluggish than you were before. All the chocolate is gone, and as the endorphins disappear so does any hope for the future. Any shiny decorations, flashing lights and seasonal cheer evaporate in a matter of days. New Years Resolutions are rendered pointless by the end of the first week, in part due to the fact that you can never live up to your own unrealistic expectations, but also because everything else has been rendered pointless, including optimism.

The glass is not half full. The glass is worthless.

Finally, nothing happens in January. No big celebrations, no holidays. Nothing. It has a crippling and debilitating lack of interest. Event attempting to find something to do is difficult because of the above-mentioned problems. You could venture outside of the house/office, if only to remind yourself that it isn't a prison, but when the cold is stabbing you repeatedly in the face and you realise you've got no money, there isn't a whole lot you can do. You could persevere, I hear that's what stubborn people do to prove a point.

Me, I'll just stay right here and wait until February, a month that at least has the balls-to-the-wall audacity to contain my birthday.*

*The boat may have sailed on that one.
*January also contians some peoples birthdays, but I'm not going to rub it in their face, poor souls.