I have long been a believer that February sucks. Just ask a groundhog, or a jilted lover or homeless person. February is the way past the joy of the holiday seasons, and is too early for the blessing of Spring. February takes forever.
I know people who have birthdays in February, and that’s fine for them, I guess, and those folks along the gulf coast seem to give February a good fight with the beads, masks and King Cakes. But, from my lifetime of personal experiences, I can safely say that I wish I could skip this month.
I thought that this year, I might just get a break from the Febru-monster, as I had a great party in Houston to look forward to, and I say truly it has been the highlight of the year to this point. However, February has tried to balance my unauthorized happiness with the agony of CONSTANT illness.
I finally threw in the towel yesterday, after coughing so hard this weekend that I threw out my back and occasionally peeing myself a little. I went to a Doctor. She said I have bronchitis. Bronchitis?!?!?! Darn that stinkin’ February! (I’m sure it is ALL February’s fault, and it has nothing to do with the two oozing disease bags that live in my house, or the way I have been running at full tilt for three years or stress. It’s February.)
The doctor gave me a five day course of antibiotics, some INDUSTRIAL cough suppressants with Hydocodone (a pill that REALLY works to slow the coughing, is a pain killer, and has the added bonus of making me sleepy. I want to marry this pill.) and steroids to bring down the inflammation. Steroids. On the one hand, I am ALL for feeling better, and I am secretly hoping that the pills help fix the tendon in my heel that has been sore for almost a year, but I hate the idea of being on the ‘roids. Is it a banned substance in the Mothering Major Leagues? Will there be sanctions? Will that traitor February rat me out to the Press?
Whatever. 12-hours into my meds, I am feeling better. And for now, that is all that matters. Well, that and thinking about the Case of the Missing Backpack. Tony’s everything bag was taken from our car Wednesday night. (It was a raining hailstorm of a night, and Tony ran into the house with our daughter, and never got back to the car to lock up. A reasonable mistake under the circumstances.) The backpack had money, gift certificates, credit cards, bank information, credit cards and both of Tony’s day planners (one of which is called the Book of All Knowledge, as it has a long list of personal information) and spare keys to both cars. What. A. Nightmare. Tony is beside himself with grief and frustration. His whole world has been turned upside down. We’ve taken what steps we can to control further disaster: frozen our credit (just what we need while shopping for a mortgage), alerted the credit companies of possible fraude and purchased “the Club” for both of our cars. Also, I have closed the walkway that connects our cul de sac to the next one. It comes down our driveway and across the edge of our property, and I am sure the thief was on foot, traveling that path.
Perhaps the miscreant made off with a few hundred dollars in cash, stamps and gift certificates, but there was little more value than that in the bag for him. For us, on the other hand, there was a wealth of inconvenience that arrived whe the bag left. I’m angry, thief. And I will take out my anger by spreading the inconvenience, and punishing the innocent. You dang kids, keep off of my yard! And may the Karma of February come around to bite that thief in the ass.