You know what? I really don’t like the month of January. It’s never really been the best month for me. I can trace it back as far as 1986, when I went back to school from Christmas break and the guy I had had a crush on (who seemed to be paying me lots of attention before the holidays) began to act as if I never existed and eventually began “going with” another girl.
And it all went downhill from there. Seven years ago this month, my friend from childhood Rhonda, died at age 32 from complications from diabetes. Three years ago this month, John died. He was the man who, along with his wife (Aggie), raised Rhonda as their own daughter and took care of me and my brother while my parents worked. He and Aggie were a third set of grandparents for me.
Two years ago this month, I learned that I would be losing my writing position at work once again and would be sent back to the desktop publishing assembly line that leaves me a zombie in front of a computer for 8 to 9 hours a day.
And that brings me to this week, my grandmother has had another stroke and is in the hospital. Things are not looking good, according to the doctors. She can’t talk or swallow and will have to have a feeding tube inserted in her abdomen. (Right now it’s in her by way of her nose.)
I don’t really like February either. It’s not that it’s been that much of a bad luck month for me, but I just don’t care about it. So I think I’ll just go to bed tonight, and someone wake me when it’s March 1st.