February has been the author of more than one bout of depression in the history of this world. The French have a word for it, ennui, that is, a feeling of listlessness brought on by a lack of excitement. Leave it to the French to come up with a five letter word that perfectly captures the essence of an entire month.
My back yard looks like a breeding ground for mud pies. Five days in, the sun has been out once. Today it’s raining and this weekend there may be two days of snow. The good news is that there are only 28 days in February, irrefutable proof that God is merciful. Just 23 more days. We can endure anything for 23 days, right?
February is to the Gregorian calendar what your boring idiot uncle is to the Thanksgiving dinner table…an excruciating experience that must be patiently endured.
February’s favorite book of the Bible is Ecclesiastes. “Meaningless! Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless!”
Man has attempted many times through the years to break up the relentless boredom and hopelessness of this wretched month. The most enduring attempt was the invention of Valentine’s Day. I’m told that this day has its origins in the Roman church. Whatever its beginnings, it has morphed into a financial windfall for the Greeting card, flower and chocolate businesses. I have nothing against Valentine’s Day. I celebrate it with great vigor and imagination, especially since there is literally nothing else to do. But, how a day dedicated to love got assigned to February remains a mystery. After all, the old proverb goes something like this, “springtime, when a young man’s heart turns to thoughts of love,” not “February, when a young man’s heart turns to thoughts of suicide.”
Thanks to the writer of Ecclesiastes we know that there is nothing new under the sun, so my struggles with this time of year are nothing new and certainly nothing that my ancestors didn’t also wrestle with. They survived, and so will I. All I’m saying is, it’s no wonder that the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre happened when it did. Can you imagine the horror of having to endure the month of February in freaking Chicago??
Al Capone: J***s f*****g C***t, if I have to spend one more night cooped up in this G******d hotel room, I’m gonna f*****g kill somebody!! Hey, wait…that’s a GREAT idea!
So, at least I don’t live in Chicago or North Dakota or Newark. It could always be worse. Besides, pitchers and catchers report in less than two weeks.