February rolls up the rim on my sanity. Please play again
Every February, without fail, there comes a time when I just can’t take it anymore.
The cold that freezes my bones, the snow that buries my car, the ice that unleashes an impenetrable layer of treachery on every surface. There is sunlight for approximately 2.56 minutes a day, as indicated by the omnipresent clouds turning a slightly lighter shade of soul-crushing grey.
Did you know February was one of the last to be added to the calendar because the Romans considered winter just one long, interminable period? And this in a Mediterranean climate where the temperature reaches an average high of around 13 C, not in the frozen hellscape that is Canada in winter.
My unbridled hatred for February — it was called “Kale-monath” in old English, pairing a horrible, bitter month with a horrible, bitter leafy foodstuff (cabbage) — puts me in such a foul mood that minor annoyances become almost unbearable.
For example, why is it so freakin’ hard for the sandwich jockeys at my favourite ubiquitous coffee chain to cut bread products all the way through? The two sides of every 12-grain bagel with cream cheese or turkey bacon club I’ve ever ordered have remained steadfastly connected in the middle by a seemingly knifeproof bridge of baked good. Pulling them apart, especially while driving, is virtually impossible without destroying both it and another small part of my sanity.
February rolls up the rim on my sanity. Please play again.
This particular February has seemed particularly cruel, with multiple snow days that have forced our family unit to work out the logistics surrounding closed schools, and buses seemingly unable to handle a few flurries on the road. It feels like these decisions, which throw my household into chaos, are made by the spinning of a roulette wheel instead of, you know, looking out a window.
The second month also comes with my least favourite fake cultural event: Valentine’s Day. My memories are rife with the agonizing adolescent disappointment which has, in turn, made me a reluctant gift-giver as an adult on this particular occasion. Every year my wife does something nice for me — this time it was my favourite chocolates in my sock drawer — and I feel terrible for loathing Cupid and the stupid forced romanticism.
The only thing that gets me through February is knowing it’s the shortest month on the calendar — I really lose it during leap years — and that its close marks the unofficial end of winter (at least in my delusional mind).
Soon it will be March and I’ll perk up at the first signs of spring. Except you know what else I can’t stand? Rain.
Drew Edwards saw his shadow on Groundhog Day but can’t remember what it means. He can be reached drew@drewedwards.ca.