Sometimes you just need a kick in the pants. A jump-start to forward momentum. This is what January is all about. The old resolution kick in the pants.
Your pants not fitting properly to kick you to eat better and exercise.
Maxing out a credit card to kick you into saving versus spending.
A night of vomiting to kick you to give up drinking.
Snow storms and nary a day over 30° to kick you to look for a job indoors.
A third bout of tonsillitis and 11 days of tear-inducing sore throat to kick you to get a tonsillectomy STAT (your terror regarding surgery be damned!).
Finding out he lied and cheated on you to kick you into kicking him out of your apartment (STAT).
A sometimes vague, sometimes overwhelming feeling of discontent, of being lost, lacking motivation and purpose, fearing failure, and general ennui to kick you to find direction in your life (still working on that one.)
(Note: We started off with clichés and then got personal.)
January is supposed to be about jump-starts. Start the year off right. In that spirit, I started January jumping up and down. Jumping and giddy drunk and 3,2,1 HAPPY NEW YEAR! Kisses, dancing, and all around festivity with great friends. 2011 was just how I’d hoped it would be for about 90 minutes.
Then January kicked my ass and has been unrelenting all month.
2 AM on New Years Day should have been the low point. First I made the untimely discovery that my tolerance had dropped significantly. I’m now worse off then when I started. That is to say, somehow I could hold my liquor better when I was 17 and had never before touched a drop. Next thing I know I’m near black out drunk off two vodka cocktails and a SOLO cup of Champagne. I was rescued by a boy, without whom I may never have made it home (then it actually would have been the low point), but not before I vomited all over myself, his pants, and a subway platform.
In hindsight I’m positively thrilled I puked on his pants. Merely 36 hours later the same boy vomited (metaphorically) all over my heart. Fortunately, it takes a lot more than vomit to break my heart; nothing a good cleanse can’t fix (á la Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair).
However, if you’ve ever tried to wash vomit out of something (and if you haven’t, I hate you), you know the smell can linger. It can take several washings to get rid of the odor. Even then, the garment may have a negative connotation. Who here vomited in elementary school, then called the shirt you wore that day the “Puke Shirt” and refused to ever wear it again? (I can’t be the only one!) If you don’t see where I’m going with these puke metaphors: It was as hard for me to get this boy out of my heart as it is to get puke out of your clothes. That kicked my ass for a good part of January.
The first morning I woke up free from thoughts of him was the morning I awoke to pain in my throat. Every time I get a sore throat I panic due to my horrible history (which I talk about at length here). Usually I’m just paranoid. This time I was not. And so my ass was kicked for the rest of January. 12 days, 3 doctor visits, -7 lbs, and some spit up puss (more disgusting than vomit fyi) later I could open my mouth, talk, and swallow without wincing. This is the last time my tonsils kick my ass. I’m figuring out insurance and then booking surgery. Tonsils, your days are numbered.
So here we are, last day of January. Snow, soiled heart, sickness: January left my ass positively black and blue. I have high hopes for February. Kick my year into gear.