January

The title says it all.  In my life, January has a whole different meaning than just the first month of the calendar year.  It is an excuse to not do something.  It is a reason to take a nap, or a day off from work, or buy something at a great sale price.  But really, I hate January. Why does my least favorite month have thirty one days? February has the decency to only have twenty eight days.  I actually want to have January removed from the calendar.  My apologies to those with January birthdays.  January slows my life down too drastically from the extreme busyness of November and December.  It is a letdown and drives me into Seasonal Affective Disorder.  I wake up in the morning thinking about how long it will be before I can crawl back into the warm cocoon of down comfort coziness.  I layer so many clothes that it exaggerates the five pounds of  holiday food intake that is trying to take up permanent residence on my stomach and hips.  I drink lots of coffee (more than usual) and crave hot cheesy creamy foods.  I want to exist on  macaroni and cheese, pasta, pot roast and chocolate.  I search out warm blankets to wrap around me while I lay on the couch and read novels.  Some would say that this is downtime.  Time for my body and mind to refresh and ready for the new year of goals and activities. After slogging through the first fifteen days of the month,  I disagree.  I want my zest for life. I search for ambition.  I sleep.    To those with a January birthday, can I offer you a date in February?