Well, here we are: in March. Christmas is a faded memory. Those idiots with no concept of time have finally stopped saying stupid crap like ďHappy New Year!Ē And weíve made it through the detestable fake holiday of St. Valentine.
So now the only thing we have to do is sit around and take stock of our lives, over-analyzing everything that anyone says to us, and ultra-magnifying every minor flaw or unsavory characteristic we see in ourselves and others. The weather isnít quite warm, but it doesnít have that jovial holiday feel that it did a few months ago. These are the days where the sun only comes out long enough to remind us that there is a better season somewhere, but where ever you are, itís still freakiní cold. March is the month of depression, misery, and hostility.
Itís the month after my cold, dead heart.
You can have your warm, sunny days, full of cook-outs, laughter and a general sense of well-being. You can have your romantic fall afternoons, where you walk hand in hand with your lover through the newly-fallen leaves, pausing only to wonder at the beauty of nature and maybe exchange a lovely kiss. And you can have your chilly winter nights, snuggled around the people closest to you, warming yourself with their love and a crackling fire.
You can have it, and you can shut up about itóI donít want to hear any of that garbage. Give me March, when you fight depression on a daily basis, when you wake up and try to think of one good reason that you should even get out of bed today, but you canít, and still have to get out of bed, anyways. When you trudge through crappy weather so you can get to your crappy job, and you look for a bright side, but if there is one, itís so far away that you canít even tell if itís really a bright side or just those crazy dots that float around in your eyes when your fat ass stands up too fast.
Give me March, man, because thatís when you really have to have hope to survive. There isnít any goofy holiday to pull you through this month, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Thereís only hope, raw and exposed, like an asphalt burn on a skate-ratís elbow. You get through March because youíre a hoss, youíre strong, and youíve got something to live for.
And if you can make it through March, youíre rewarded with April, and you can get back to your candy-ass life full of flowers and warm days in the park and girls in revealing clothing.
So enjoy your March, loyal readers, or hate it. But live it, dammit, and realize every second of that life. And if you start to forget, it you need a little support to pull you through your lousy life, Iíll be waiting here at The Strangelands. Iíll mock you and Iíll laugh at you, but Iíll be right here for you, too.