No Method, Just Madness

January is routinely a giant pain in my giant behind. Seriously. Every morning of every January we go through this whole routine where I have to muster up the will to scrape myself out of bed and go out into the big, grey, blustery outside to do Things.¹ I normally like doing Things. Honestly…me and Things? We’re tight. But in January, Things just seem like a big, steaming load of Not Fun wrapped in a winter coat and scarf. And don’t forget the umbrella, otherwise it would all be a big, WET, steaming load of Not Fun. Which, for the record, is considerably less fun.

It’s not just the weather that colors everything so many shades of poopie² for me, it’s also that every year, on the last Saturday of January, I (along with all the other general surgical residents in the US) have to take a surgical board prep exam. A little sum-m sum-m the American Board of Surgery dreamed up to simulate the experience of sitting for four hours in a room and having your fingernails ripped out of their nail beds with pliers…by an extremely technically gifted surgeon, of course. An exaggeration, perhaps, but it’s about that much fun. So, yay, about that.

Adding insult to injury is the fact that apparently, quite a few decades ago, the maternal and paternal sides of my family held a conference with my stepfamily as well as with the family of The Brit. And in this conference, they came to the consensus that everyone should hump their friggin’ brains out in, say, April…so that EVERYONE would have January babies. Maybe they all liked Garnet as a birthstone, I don’t know. But the end result is that my grandfather, stepfather, father, brother and The Brit all have birthdays in January. I hope they all like handouts of surgical board prep test questions, cuz THAT’S ALL I’M GOOD FOR RIGHT NOW!

1. Things like Work. And Stuff.
2. Shades like Blahhh. And Urghhh.

In the last couple days I have devolved into a semi-gelatinous glob of mucousy viral contagions which, I guess, is the cosmos trying to tell me that breathing through one’s nose is a privilege, not a right. Dually noted, Cosmos!! DUALLY NOTED!!

Considering my time of late has become vastly consumed by sneezing and obligate mouth breathing, the last thing I’ve been in the mood for is writing two medical journal manuscripts for a Jan 4^th deadline. And yet that’s what I’ve been doing. So, needless to say, there hasn’t been a whole lot of recreational fun going on around here…and, in turn, there’ve been considerably fewer cocktails than I was hoping for as well. Happy New Year to me! Wheeeee!! (Achoo!) He Who Established Such A Ridiculous Circa-Holiday Deadline should be happy that he is not within my breathing range. There would be carnage. (Or at least the passing on of a pretty unpleasant cold.)

And. Just a side note. This morning, I thought that a cute outfit might cheer me up, so I decided to don these cute little wide-legged, dark brown sailor pants with a GAZILLION buttons in the front. Note to self: Do not wait til the last moment to go pee when wearing these, for the unbuttoning process is noticeably more lengthy than that which is required of the usual zipper contraption. I’m glad I had the bathroom to myself to do the Snotty-Nosed Pee Pee Unbuttoning The Pants Dance earlier today at work because I know for sure it wasn’t my best choreography ever. Not even top 5, let’s be honest.

To top it all off, I’ve got a righteous zit in the center of my forehead and my winter coat (which I’m still wearing because it’s sub-arctic in our house at the moment…YOU HEAR THAT, HEATER? WTF?) seems to have increased it’s affinity for my shedding hair. Perhaps I’m turning into a unicorn, after all! It’s about damn time…I made that wish, like, DECADES AGO!