The Cruelest Month?

Mon, Feb 25, 2002 11:47PM -0600

I don't agree. I don't think it's April. I might have to nominate September. While I was born in September and I have had some good ones, I think some of the saddest things in my life have happened then, too. I was tempted to say June, but I think that was just that one time. I don't intend to repeat such madness again. But I have begun to notice a pattern with February.

I must disclaim: I don't mean to offend any of my close friends and family who have birthdays in February. But, God, I'm glad this month usually only has 28 days. I mean, sure, my feelings might have something to do with my Catholic upbringing and the fact that it's Lent, meaning that I am constantly being reminded about my sinfulness and mortality. But I'm beginning to find that I am invariably depressed in February.

Not to say that there aren't any precipitating causes. I honestly thought I would get used to this sort of thing, but I suppose I haven't really grown enough in order to look at it in an objective light. I know I am being frustratingly vague, but I have always been terrible about expressing my feelings regarding such matters.

OK, I give up. I will try to be more specific. It's about women and my sheer incompetence with regards to dealing with them. Quite mundane, I suppose. Yes I know it's still vague, but I've never felt comfortable divulging such things on the Internet.

But the worst part is that it might very well be entirely in my head. I may be magnifying something extremely out of proportion. Maybe many things. Maybe everything. I have always had a terrible sense of proportion. My friends chide me about it. It's always all-or-nothing with me. I know I need to change that, at least.

So I just wanted to get that out of my system. I may be doomed, but at least I've acknowledged it.

And yet, because this kind of thing always seems to happen, I'm reluctant to give up just yet. I can't possibly screw up every time, can I? I probably should just let go and face the facts, but I've got a stubborn streak after all.

No. This is not healthy. I suppose it's time to hit the road again. No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Now if only I could learn from my mistakes. I seem to be making the same ones over and over. (And a certain song pops into my head, of course.)


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