Of all the months out of the year, January is the one I despise the most.
The holidays are a beautiful thing with all the food, lights, and family gatherings, but when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve, another creature creeps to the surface at 12:01 a.m.
It crawls around on all fours, cold and nasty, and rears its ugly January head. It sucks the fun right out of the air to bring in the winter’s frigid temperatures. It wallows in the frozen ground as I stare out of the window in dismay. Why must you come here year after year and make yourself at home until February?
My hands long to dig in the dirt and make something grow. They say gardening is the equivalent of anti-anxiety medication and makes you feel closer to nature. January only serves to remind you that the sunshine you long for is still months away. Nothing will grow in such harsh conditions.
February is a servant to love and sweetness, and March brings the promise of spring. April ushers in warmth and flowers, and May is a balm to your soul with summer on the wind. January is the redheaded stepchild that brings me no joy.
It hauls in rain and ice, and it rarely invites its fluffy friend, Snow. Snow makes a mess, but it does bring some majesty to the landscape at times despite what January wants.
I suppose I could spend more time in my kitchen keeping my oven company whilst ignoring the dreadful creature. I’ll cocoon myself inside and emerge in the spring fat and sassy from all the sweet creations I bake and toil over. It’s a much better alternative than giving it the attention it wants.
Someone please come and adopt January. It needs a new home.
