February Blues

There are some pretty obvious indicators of my mental health.
1) The length of my hair.
2) The number of accessories I am wearing.
3) How late the birthday card is.
4) The number of emails languishing in my inbox.
5) The last time I updated this space.

Let's look at each one of these in excruciating detail.

Hair:  My hair is best short. I have thin hair and the longer it is, the more it looks like I am going bald.  I like it chin length or even slightly shorter.  It only gets longer when I cannot bear the thought of both calling to set up a hair appointment (talking to someone on the phone? for fuck's sake, that's not what I DO) and driving to said hair appointment and dealing with the inevitable small talk (I'm sorry, hair stylist, but I do NOT want to talk to you at all).  Since my hair is currently tied up in a ponytail, I'm going to leave it to you to figure out what that means.

Accessories:  It is 12:19 pm and I am still sitting on my couch in my pajamas.  During, let's say, the middle of summer, you will find me wearing 30489203 bracelets, layered necklaces, fun shoelaces I have color coordinated to my shirt, and earrings in every single hole in my ears.  Right now I am barely dressed. 

Birthday cards: My best friend's birthday is Sunday. I know this right now.  But I have not yet shopped for a present nor looked for a card. She will probably get some sort of over the top package from me by the end of March. If she's lucky.  (Sorry, Torilla.  I promise you will get it someday.)  I just can't convince myself that typing "fun ankh necklace" into Etsy is worth what little energy I have to expend right now.

Emails:  I have two personal emails to two very dear friends from Minneapolis sitting there staring at me in my inbox.  What I should actually do is call those two very dear friends, but I'm nervous that as soon as either one of them answered the phone, I would just burst out into tears.  (Sorry, Natalie and Erica. I will get back to you. By end of the March. Maybe.)

Blog:  I have not written here in over three weeks.  The whining that is my stock in trade is even too much for me to handle at this moment.  I promise, you, loyal blog, I will update you more regularly.  Maybe in March. 

February is hard for me. I can't go outside.  The two days this month the thermometer got above freezing, I walked for hours and hours outside.  But now the temperature is, once again, approximately too fucking cold, and I sit inside, breathing cigarette smoke that is coming up from our downstairs neighbor's apartment, huddled over my laptop, imagining those days during the summer when I walked to pick up our CSA basket and would eat a fresh tomato while strolling home. The bare minimum of things I need to get done are not getting done.

I find myself ticking off the numbers of balls I have dropped each night in a recitation of "get yourself together, NGS," which only serves to remind me that I am not good enough right now.  I am not a good wife, a good friend, a good daughter, a good employee, a good cat friend, or a good blogger. I am simply not good enough.

The only saving grace is that this is the shortest month. I'm going to put my big girl pants on and call for that hair appointment right now.  And I'm going to workout, take a shower, and get dressed in clothes that require me to put on at least one accessory.  I'm going to get started on March a little early.