February. I am not a fan. February has it out for me. Every year, I wait to see the hammer drop, or however that old saying goes, and something always happens. This year, I want a boring, uneventful February, please and thank you! Less is more. We need to focus on less and sleep more. Or at least climb into our beds and hide from the mean, cruel, unforgiving universe. Who’s with me?

Damn, I sound like I am on some serious downers.

But I do not partake in downers; I am not even sure what they are. I just wanted to sound cool. Failed again. Eating one’s feelings can have that effect. I had pork chops tonight for dinner, with a hamburger chaser. I just couldn’t decide. I seriously only wanted something on which to apply a splat of ketchup. I had a craving. Don’t judge. You could be a dork, too, and just have not realized it yet.

I married both my husbands in the month of February. Not at the same time; however, that might have been more interesting, and maybe more fun. Middle age was banging on my door by the time I fully realized I belonged with women. I did procure two fabulous sons from the marriages, though. And thank god, neither were in February.

I was in a bad rollover when I was 38, on February 13th. Yes it was a Friday. I was in a van with seven other workmates, headed to Vegas for the long weekend. We were about four hours away and the woman driving at the time overcorrected on some black ice. It was an ugly day, and nothing to joke about. I did lose a shoe in the wreckage, though. I went into shock after we crashed, and was told later that I wandered around the crash site, hobbling on one shoe, until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics cut my favorite jean jacket off me. I would have taken it off for them. I guess they assumed I couldn’t move, but I was just tired from all that shoe searching. And my foot was frozen. And I was in mourning for not being able to go to Vegas. I had a coffee can full of quarters with me, just waiting to be fed into those glorious video poker machines! I felt robbed. Now I would have to roll those damned quarters and take them to the bank.

I had two takeaways from that accident: 1) I saved money, because I was a gambling addict and would have hit the ATM 30 minutes after arriving, and, 2) My paramedic was a hottie.

Turned out I had three compression fractures from the ordeal and ended up in the hospital, and then home from work for months. There was nothing funny about that either, but our two dogs loved having me as their couch mate. After a few weeks, however, they just considered me their snack bitch, and ignored me the rest of the time.

The struggle is real, people.

A few years later, I was in intensive care with a blood pressure spike. Also February 13th. Also a Friday. I had only been seeing my new partner for a few weeks when it happened, and I was told she was really frightened for me. I didn’t notice because I was serving up my guts to the gods, via the floor, the bed, the bathroom, and my partner. She must have really felt sorry for me because she stuck around for 21 years. Happy Valentine’s Day in heaven, Joan. This crazy post is for you. I’m being careful, so don’t worry. After all, it is February and, even though shit happens in February, I know you’re looking out for me.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I just started my second doctoral class, and they gave me a different professor. It just about broke my heart. But that was actually in January, so I guess it doesn’t count. But I miss him. He had more patience with me than anyone should have with an old lady. I already feel sorry for my new professor.