i

It’s not depression, I say. It’s February.

You: Baby, it’s March.

Jane: Look outside. It’s February.

The sun is back, though, and the weather forecast promises above weather zero again, so the prognosis looks good. I will probably make it to another spring.

But I’ve got to tell. you, kittens, the amount of energy I expend November through February to make sure I see March is excessive.

Perhaps that’s why I want to be in bed 12 hours a day.

It’s March.

So they say.

I expect I’ll make it.

ii

I’ve actually done ok this winter. Really. Two weeks in Mexico in November saw me through a crappy December. January and February were brutal but I made arrangements. I freebased Vitamin D. I went to the theatre, twice. I danced (twice!). I RSVP’ed to events and usually showed up. I took my sons places and I fed them decent suppers. I even went out for a 1:1 lunch with a friend once, and a walk another time.

I’ve had worse winters.

My best winter ever, though, was the one I spent in Cuba. And I had sun.

It’s true.

I’m basically a plant.

iii

It’s March, you insist, but I still need help ensuring I’ll be here tomorrow. Plans help. I make a list of road trips, activities. I buy plane tickets.

I ponder moving. Maybe next winter, I need a place with bigger windows, better heating.

Somewhere closer to the equator.

It doesn’t feel like March, not yet.

iv

Exercises to remind you life is worth living:

Make a list of all the people who love you (yes, you’re on it).

Make a list of all the things you’re grateful for. Coffee. Books. Butterflies. Cats — when they’re not in heat. Keerist. Why have I not spayed this cat yet?

Don’t read the news. Do’t think about P@lestine, the Sudan, the Congo. Don’t think about what a pathetic First World Loser you are.

Go out for a fancy coffee instead. But not Starbucks.

Go for a walk.

Do not hit the person who suggested you go for a walk. But also, fuck you, I walk to and from work every day, I walk the dog two or three or more times a day, just because you’re so pathetic and inactive a walk seems revolutionary doesn’t mean it’s a cure all, fuck the fuck off with your stupid go for a walk advice, seriously, it’s just a walk, did we not prove over the pandemic that walking around the block is actually NOT all that we need to be happy?

Don’t say that. Choose kindness. Remember, people mean well. Smile a fake smile for two minutes, then take yourself for a solo sheesha date.

Go to John Fluevog and wind show for shoes. Don’t buy any, though, because all the spare cash (what’s that?) in your budget is going to the heating and electricity bill and to bolstering grocery store profits.

Make a list of all the people who love you again.

Turn it into a list of all the people who would come to your funeral.

Plan your funeral.

Make it really good, a combination murder mystery-escape room-dead disco-wake-no one gets out alive kinda thing.

Stop spiralling. Now.

Eat some carbs. Or ice cream.

There’s a new flavour of soft serve — Matcha! — at Luke’s. Go try it.

Oh — carbs with ice cream. Do it.

Try to remember why you stopped drinking and don’t go to buy a bottle of wine.

Go dancing.

Ok, that helped, a little.

Make a list of all the people you haven’t seen lately.

Text one of them.

Make plans.

Don’t cancel them.

Make a list of the people you want to invite to your next birthday.

Tell your cat she’s beautiful.

Buy a new houseplant.

Don’t feel too bad if you kill it within two weeks. Everything dies, everything passes.

This too shall pass, this mood. You know it will.

Have you eaten some carbs?

Ice cream?

v

It’s March. The calendar says it’s March.

We made it, baby, 100%, it’s March.

So they say.

You: It’s March. I promise.

I almost believe it.

I think we made it.

xoxo

“Jane”

PS We made it. We totally made it. It’s March.