Seeing Bradley Whitford at the Democratic debate tonight made me just as excited as when I found out drinking champagne straight from a bottle can be classified as ‘elegant’ as long as you chug with your pinky up.

God I love democracy.

Hooray! It’s almost February. I’m ready to kick off this month with candy hearts and red wine. So it’s so cold outside that after three seconds in the elements my nipples are so hard they could cut glass? I don’t care! It’s not January! So this chilly month includes the only holiday dedicated exclusively to coupled people and I am single? I don’t care! It’s not January! I would rather deal with 28 (or 29 days this Leap Year) days of shiny red and pink materialistic reminders of LOVE and SOUL MATES and BE MINES and SWEETHEARTS rather than spend one more nanosecond living in the confines of January. Whoop!!

The Red Bull is back in action. Did the excessive exclamation points give it away?

So, it’s time for my next resolution on my list of things I plan to accomplish this year while changing the world one Red Bull at a time. And here it is:

February
- Become an expert on one topic that I currently know absolutely nothing about. (Aka: The month I get depressed because I realize how much I don’t know about Margaret Thatcher, or the solar system or ketchup).

Allll right. So I’ve been giving this resolution some serious thought. And as much as I do love ketchup (I like relish more actually, it seems like the underdog of the condiment world- but that’s a whole other conversation), I don’t think I’m going to have it on my list. Because if I’m dedicating 29 days of learning everything I can about a topic, it (so says the smartest part of my brain) should be on a topic that I might actually find, you know, useful.

Actually, that wasn’t my only focus. I wanted to chose topics that I feel sort of ashamed at how little I know about. Topics that I feel like I should already know something about. And I wanted to pick topics that I think I would be interested in learning about (hence why there’s no ‘managerial finance’ or “Paris’s Hiltons eating habits” choices below. Because I don’t want to spend 29 days torturing myself to the edge of Bellatrix Lestrange madness).

So, my plan was something like this:

useful information + shame at not knowing about already+ excitement AT learning = choices.

Thankfully, I’m a teacher so there’s a ton of topics I know nothing about that would be useful (seriously? I just wrote that sentence? I have a university degree and I talk like that? Oy. I swear- when I’m teaching kids I do teach them more than discuss how to funnel beers as quick as possible. I teach them math, science and how to overthrow the government).
Here are my top 10 choices:

1. The Solar System
2. Shakespearean Comedies
3. Gandhi
4. Baseball
5. The Human Body
6. Canadian Prime Ministers
7. Violent Weather
8. Wine & Wine Tasting
9. The Pyramids
10. World Capitals

And because I’m all sorts of awesome and believe the key to my success it putting the choice in your hands- I’m letting you all vote. Top 2 choices, please!

Oh, and please don’t vote for #6- I just put that on there because I feel bad I know nothing about them. But? I’m not really interested either. Yet, I can recite the first 20 US presidents in order. Oh, the irony.

(Update: Since I got a few emails asking and I see it’s being asked in comments- Yep, I will be sharing this knowledge with all of you. I haven’t decided if it will be in a few posts, or a fact of the day or maybe I will send you all book reports but you will get something out of this!)

On a scale of 1-10, I’m annoyed by this a 46, 813. From my understanding (which, I grant- may be diluted by my rage) the New York State Chapter of NOW (National Organization for Women) feels Ted Kennedy ‘betrayed’ women by endorsing Barack OBAMA. They say “He’s picked the new guy over us. He’s joined the list of progressive white men who can’t or won’t handle the prospect of a woman president who is Hillary Clinton.” (thanks cnn.com).

Did it occur to them that perhaps Kennedy endorsed OBAMA because of something other than his gender? Like maybe… his foreign policy views? Or voting history? Or forward thinking? Or stance on serious issues currently being faced by the United States?

People aren’t pro OBAMA because the want a man to be president. People aren’t pro Hillary because they want a woman president. People vote for who speaks the voice they connect to. They endorse and support those who they feel will best lead the country,- not because they are ‘anti’ another candidate, but because they are simply ‘for’ another.

The more people make this about gender or race, the quicker the important issues get lost in the shuffle. There was an entire news cycle today about this NOW chapter and how upset they are, and the fact that the stimulus package cleared the House barely got a mention.

End rant.

I’m going to go find my inhaler and imagine George and I at a pottery wheel squishing wet clay between our fingers.

(And I know. That’s two posts in one day, usually not something I do but if I didn’t write something about this I was pretty sure my head was going to start turning all the way around and  steam would shoot through my ears all tea kettle-esque. And how would I make it out for dinner tonight looking like I was thisclose to stabbing someone with my butter knife?)

January has been a hell-ish month. I’m not kidding. If there was a way to convey how much I’ve hated this month I would. But the best I have is my 13 year old self telling January it can just suck it. Suck it hard.

And now I’m giggling like a 13 year old. Because I said ’suck’ and ‘hard’ in the same sentence.

But let’s get back to January.

I’m not saying ALL Januaries are awful. Just this past one. I would do a recap of all the horrible and awful and stressful things that happened this month (many of which I didn’t write about because if I would have there would have been a new blogging award titled “Most de-fucking-pressing blog of all time” and I would have won. In a landslide.) but talking about hospital visits and break-ups and people I want to strangle until the color leaves their face just makes me angry again.

And I’m really working on not being angry.

But what I really want to say is this: I know I’m not alone. Lunch dates, phone conversations, well articulated posts, emails, text messages and facebook statuses all tell me that January hasn’t been kind to anyone. We’ve all suffered. Some (not me) far more than others. And I find that when I don’t know what to say to lessen pain or frustration, I will come back to the phrase that’s tacked up beside my computer:

“If you are going through hell, keep going“- Winston Churchill.

It’s one of my favourite quotes because it just makes sense to me. And reminds me that the only way to improve a situation, to relieve myself of my burdens, is to move forward. That when I’m sinking in awful and murky waters, I may not be able to control the situation but I can control what I do- I can keep moving. I’ve said it to friends over meals, family over trips to the hospital and typed it up in comments to many of you and I mean it.

With every inch of my heart.

Two days of January left. I can’t wait to dropkick this month and move on.

Remember how just a few short days ago I was gripping onto sanity with my fingertips? I’m now holding sanity a little more securely. I’m no longer crying because Full House was canceled twelve years ago. The skin under my eyes no longer is the color of bruised fruit. My hair has been touched by a novel invention called a hairbrush.

My mental health has greatly improved and I credit sleep, shampoo and Springsteen for this miraculous development.

On Friday I took my tired and worn self to heaven Sephora. Because if there’s one place that’s likely to revive my urge to take better care of myself, (hi, New Years resolution? It’s me and I’m sorry) it’s a brightly lit shop where each saleslady looks like she’s in the running for Miss America. Where rows of brightly colored lipglosses look like candy and products smell like they are from a bakery.

And it actually worked. I pulled my hat down to cover the dark circles left from sleepless nights and spritzed and squirted and smelled everything in the store. I left with a full bag and empty wallet. But more importantly, I left with an urge to wash my hair with my new shampoo. To put on clothes that don’t make me look like all my meals come from the dumpster behind Denny’s. And if that’s not proof that retail therapy works, I don’t know what is.

Next I tackled sleep. For the last few weeks sleep has eluded me. I end up watching the clock change minutes, then hours. So I sat down, bit the bullet and wrote down every single thing that has been bothering me. Because I’m not foolish enough to think that this sudden inability to drift off to sleep is not related to my life and all the pressures that I’m currently feeling. The list was a bit daunting but when I crossed off all the things out of my control completely or things I could not change, it looked far scary. Then I took a shower, swallowed a glorious sleeping pill and picked up my copy of “Love in the Times of Chloera” (which I’m finding as boring as reading the ingredients listed on a box of Raisin Bran).

And I slept for 16 hours.

The next night I stayed in, did some laundry and called old friends. I had just finished a marathon call with one of those friends who reminds you of all the best parts of yourself when the Boss came on my itunes. Standing in a pile of unfolded clothes, I turned it up and tuned out. And danced. I danced like I was 5 martinis into the night, wearing my favourite jeans and the dance floor was empty.

I found myself singing along with Bruce as loud as I could, doing the kind of dancing you can only do when there’s no witness. I realized I may not have been brimming with joy, but I had found a moment of unexpected happiness. And I did it on my own.

I will still get sad. I know this. My sadness hits me like a bus. It leaves me breathless, exhausted and at times, even scared. I don’t admit to have a way to prevent it, or a cure to stop it- but when it does come again (and it will- I know this with a certainty that calms me rather than frightens me), I will console myself by knowing that at least have a good undereye concealer (Hi Bare Escentuals? I love you) and better moves than Courtney Cox.

Seriously.

Ben over Matt
avoidance over confrontation
Mexican food over Chinese food
late nights over early mornings
beer over wine
Al Gore over everybody
too much over too little
Pride and Prejudice over Sense and Sensibility
Wolf Blitzer over Wolverine
house boating over house hunting
NBC over CBS
spending over saving
salty over sweet
Italy over Hawaii
Josh Lyman over Josh Harnett
dogs over cats
OBAMA over Hillary
mistakes made over missed chances
lipgloss over lipstick
J.K Rowling over J.R. R Tokien
hockey over football
half full over half empty
Jennifer Garner over Jennifer Lopez
sense of humor over sense of style
Jeopardy! over Wheel of Fortune
Thanksgiving over Christmas
pro-choice over pro-life
rootbeer over coke
The Breakfast Club over Dirty Dancing
pirates over ninjas
running outdoors over running indoors
Stewart over Colbert
french toast over french fries
Ariel over Cinderella
The Olympics over The Oscars

What do you choose?

10 minutes ago I got this email:

“I’ve never left a comment before but I read you all the time. I’m sorry you are feeling so shitty, I hope you feel better soon. I thought I would tell you though, you’ve lost my vote for funniest blog. Your last few blogs haven’t been funny at all!1! Sorry tho, you still should keep writing!!*hugs!*- alexis

And can I tell you something? I laughed out loud. So Alexis… wherever you are? Thank you. That was the best email I got all day.

I’m sad.

The beauty behind this, is that I knew it was coming. I could feel it- the same way you feel autumn on a really hot August day. A breeze wanders through your hair and you smell fall, you smell change. And you promise yourself that you are going to capture every last ray of summer because you know colder weather is coming and you want to put it off for as long as possible. You attempt to hold onto something that you can’t keep. Yes, it’s exactly like that.

When I say I’m sad, I don’t mean I feel like crying. Crying implies effort, and that is something I can’t afford to waste on tears. And there’s no reason. Or there’s too many- the post holiday slump leaves me feeling nostalgic for days I won’t see again for a long time, the sun is hardly out, I miss people I don’t see, I’ve got 5 hours of sleep in the last two days, I just marked an anniversary no one should ever mark. And of course, there’s the knowledge that such sweeping feelings of melancholy run in my family. Two aunts and one of my parents have all been hospitalized for depression in the past. And for some reason, knowing that it runs in my family makes me feel like I have a free pass to a club no one wants to join.

Today everything seems like too much effort. Showering, dressing, brushing my hair. I want to lay down in blankets and nap. I don’t want to answer the phone, the door or an email. I want to sleep until I feel better, until I feel different- but if I’m not awake- how will I know anything has changed?

I know this will pass. I will go out into the grey afternoon and blaze a trail through knee deep snow until I’m out of breath. I will do this because I know that exercise will make me feel better. I will come inside and make plans with friends who know how to make me laugh and when to let me cry. I will call them because I know that talking to others will make me feel better. I will return home, have a hot shower and lay freshly scrubbed in dryer-warmed pajamas. I will make this effort because I know it will make me feel better. I will close my eyes and search for sleep. Pray for sleep. Because I know sleep will make me feel better.

And I will wake up tomorrow.

And hope that I feel better.

UPDATE: While I work on responding to all your comments, please check out my guest post over at Brookem’s site. It’s about MUSIC and that one time Brookem did tequila shots with Stevie Nicks.

Sunday night found me at the grocery store. Doing the sort of shopping I didn’t really need to do. The kind of shopping I do only when I am feeling very bored and sorry for myself because it’s Sunday NIGHT!, and my life no longer involves Sunday night keggers or spontaneous parties or Grey’s Anatomy (because I used to watch it when it was on Sundays. Back when it entertaining and didn’t make me want to shove my head down a garborater). And it’s currently not involving any Sunday night romps with a man who tells me he loves me while he attempts to braid my hair and wins any argument by covering my mouth with kisses. Sunday night is just the last whisper of a weekend that went by too soon, a reminder that Monday morning is almost here.

Sunday nights suck.

My basket was filled with juice boxes, some fruit, three packs of strawberry bubblicious bubblegum, enough magazines to paper mache a house- inside and out, when I heard three girls having the kind of discussion that my brain was born to listen in on. They were deeply involved in the kind of girl talk you can only have when you are nineteen and have just discovered how FABULOUS you are. A lot of “very’s” and “like’s” and “totally omigod”. There was a also a lot of:” I’m so excited for tonight!”

”Do you think he will be there tonight?”

“She’s such a ho.”

“Duh! Buy the biggest bag of Cheetos!”

“You are going to look so hot in that shirt!”

And my personal favorite:

“Do you think 7 two liters is enough mix for all three of us?”

I put down a box of cereal and smiled to myself. Because no amount of partying, no amount of first kiss butterflies, no squeals with friends while curling my hair would ever make me want to go back there. To the age of ignorance where I didn’t know drinking enough to float an ocean liner would result in me holding on to the bathroom floor with curled fingers, praying that death would take me out of my misery. Or at least cause the room to stop spinning like carousal on fast forward.

I left the store without buying mix or Cheetos. And I couldn’t have been happier.

Because it feels wrong not to put up a photo remembering the actor who made me insanely jealous of Shannyn Sossamon.

Sigh.