The Guest Who Wouldn't Leave
I’m kinda all over the place. Did you ever watch Gilmore Girls? If you did, do you remember when Lorelei was trying to write a letter, a character reference for Luke? Every time she sat down to write her head would be swirling with all sorts of crazy thoughts. She just couldn’t concentrate.
Well, that’s where I am right now. Monkey, monkey, underpants. There’s a jumble inside my head and there doesn’t seem to be a clearly marked exit anywhere. I’m not worried about it. I’ve been here before. I’m stuck, but I’m pretty sure I’ll get out in not too long. It’s not a character reference or a letter that ails me. It’s January. The month that never ends.
I don’t know when January started to annoy me so much. When I think about it, I can’t really remember a time when this first month of the year and I were friendly. Maybe I’m being unfair. I mean, January has never really done anything to me. There’s no trauma I remember suffering during these thirty-one days. I don’t have any bad memories that I can remember. There are no anniversaries of loved ones dying. I never dealt with a breakup, never lost a job, never suffered an injury. January is really quite innocent to be honest, but man is it bleak. And long. So very, very long.
After the glowing, beautiful, glittery last fourth of the year—the gloriousness that is October, November and December—January just falls flat. It’s boring. It’s colorless. There are no fall leaves in shades of crimson, sunrise and fire. There are no sparkling twinkle lights, Christmas trees or oversized slices of pumpkin pie with towering swirls of whipped cream. It’s cold. It’s gray. It’s dead. It’s the visitor that overstays its welcome. I’m gathering January’s coat and scarf and pushing it ever so slowly toward the front door. It’s reluctant and stubborn, and it doesn’t want to leave, damn it.
I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. I used to be, but like with so many people, I don’t have the fortitude to push past the first couple of weeks. I have a theory on this now after thinking about it for a while. I’m fairly certain that two weeks in January time is closer to like six months or a year. Maybe I’ve done better in the past than I previously thought. I’m a big believer in positive thinking. Okay. Theory adopted.
Last year, I jumped on the “one-word resolution” wagon. One of my closest friends even bought me one of those fun bracelets with my word on it. I chose BALANCE. It’s a good word. It’s a good idea. I put it to use in 2019. I wasn’t perfect by any means. I always do more for other people than I do for myself. I always spend more time trying to make others happy, and I worked more oftentimes on other author’s books than I did on my own … but I can look back on every one of those projects without even a smidge of regret. I only jumped into projects that I wanted to be a part of. And I can count on one hand how many times I was up until the wee hours of the morning finishing something for someone else … it would take both hands and maybe a foot to count the late nights I was working on my own writing. BALANCE. Yes. That was my word for 2019. I like it so much that I’ve adopted it for 2020 as well. It’s a great word. I’m going to keep it.
I’m not quite balanced right now. January, man. Thing is, I know once we get through this month, the year can finally start, and I’ll be able to balance the hell out of my life. I’ve got my planner. I’m organized. I’ve got projects set up and ready for me. Come on, February. I’m ready for you. Until you arrive, I think I’ll park myself in front of Netflix and watch as many episodes of Gilmore Girls that I can fit in.