not again

An entire day and a few more hours away from closing the first month of this god-forsaken year, and already I can hear The Weepies singing. Not, in any way, a glorified chorus congratulatory of my achievements: having read 5 books, having gone this long without squandering money on clothes or on fattening myself, and having the audacity to reach the end of January alive. But monotonous – a first-rate mimic of an elegy.

After a series of years to which Not Your Year is my deathless anthem, it’s finally getting on my nerves. And if I find it in me to be bold, I just might do something about it.