The January Purgatory = True Story

I miss sitting on the patio with the dogs, watching the ducks on the pond. Here, Luka shows us how to do it best.

I’ve heard it called the January Purgatory, and I can’t argue with that.

Today is January 24, 2024, and it feels like we’ve been living in this new year for about seven months already.

Wading through this first month of the year has been a challenge for me. One like I don’t remember before in my 50-plus years.

First, I had an annual physical, where my doctor offhandedly asked: ‘So, do you have any grandkids yet?’ In response, I nearly assaulted him but tactfully said, ‘It just wasn’t in the cards.’ I should have said, ‘Ummm … Read my chart, man. You and I both know I’ve had far too many parts removed to be producing a family.’

Second, the temperatures plummeted to what I can only call ‘Hell must be freezing over’ negative digits. Seriously, it got so cold in Colorado The Weed and I walked the dogs together in case one of us just fell down and gave up on life in the middle of a snow drift and needed a proper burial.

Third, I slept strangely one night and woke to realize I likely broke three ribs in the process. I exaggerate a bit here but I honestly walked around for several days certain the pain in my right side was broken ribs or my liver trying to free itself from this decidedly undry January.

Fourth, I was bored and watched Saltburn. Again. If you have not seen this movie, I suggest reading up on it before diving in. The reviews and memes will shoot you straight on this. Caution, friends.

Fifth, I bought a pot, potting soil, and fertilizer to re-pot my fiddle leaf fig plant, Burt. Today, all of these repotting ingredients are sitting in the dining room and Burt remains in his original pot looking like if he could sprout legs he’d walk straight out of this joint.

Although these mundane occurrences could have made my January fly by, they did not. Instead, it feels like I’ve been running slowly and awkwardly on a January treadmill.

I miss the green grass.

I miss sitting on the patio with the dogs, watching the ducks on the pond.

I miss leaves on the trees.

I miss the white roses and peonies blooming in the yard.

I miss warm summer breezes not these arctic blasts from the north.

I miss a cold margarita with barbacoa tacos eaten outside amid the chaos of the neighborhood shopping center.

I read an article the other day that tried to define why January feels so eternal. Basically, December is our problem, people. The author mostly blamed the excitement and holidays of the previous month for leaving us all out of fun and faith in January.

Another theory for the January Purgatory is the so-called Mandela Effect. Basically, a collective belief that something is one thing when it is actually another. (From the article: ‘The name, Mandela Effect, comes from the popular belief in the 1980’s that Nelson Mandela had died during his time in prison.’ He did not.)

So, because everyone believes January is the longest month ever, I believe January is the longest month ever. Hmmm …

If that’s the case, I’d like to humbly suggest we all use our collective will and belief to make something else longer … My legs. Your legs. Florence Pugh’s legs.

I really don’t care. I just want the hell out of January.