I hate you. I don’t mean like a little tiny bit of dislike or annoyance. I mean, you are the absolute worst thing that happens every year. I am SO ready for you to slither back into the cave from whence you came and hibernate for… say…forever?
You come sneaking around every year right after the holiday season to torture us with your grey, miserable, freezing presence for about 842 days. (Seriously, is January like two years long?!) It is an eternal stretch of bleak nothingness.
The sun rarely shines for the few hours it is even allowed to rise each day. The grass is brown. The trees are bare. The leftover snow turds that refuse to melt sit in dirty, grey blobs in my parking spot, taking up half the space. My car is covered with a splotchy film of snow melt. My house looks shabby and sad after packing away the lights and glitter that covered every surface just a few weeks ago.
All of the celebration and promise that we feel on December 31 disappears by about January 7. It seems like January is the bearer of a constant string of bad news. Like “Ha, ha! You had too much fun at Christmas. Now you must suffer!!!” (Laughing and pointing its icy little finger at me.) The students are crabby. The teachers are crabby. Even the promise of a snow day or two just means that we have that much more work to do when we finally do return.
I just want to crawl under my weighted blanket in a pair of sweats and refuse to come out until, I don’t know… maybe March. Stop killing my vibe, January. This is your official eviction notice. Feel free to leave now. No one likes you anyway.