Opinion: Allez Les (January) Bleus!
Come, my friends, and wallow with me. There’s a shite few weeks ahead. It starts getting dark from the minute your alarm goes off in the morning, and the sky is like a badly written, best-selling erotic novel by E.L. James (think about it). You can’t move for magazines and articles telling you how to beat those January Blues… but ask yourself, why should you?
Screw finding ways to beat them – limber up and join them. Why waste what precious little energy you have left over from wiping yourself down after the Turkey Sweats? Use it to lounge pro-actively in the doom and drudgery of post-Christmas wasteland! January is nothing more than the kick in the nuts after the lovely bowl of ice cream that was Christmas time. Now the party’s over, and it’s time to pay the piper. Also the Visa bill, and the gas bill, and that rich, doddery aunt you only call once a year to convince that she forgot to give you your Communion Money.
Don’t fret about how society expects you to pick up and leap fresh-faced into the New Year, full of vim and vigour, New Year Resolutions printed, laminated and signed in your own blood – because THAT’S how much you are willing to commit to kicking off 2013 anew. As my mother used to say; “Rise up out of me.” Come, join me over here in the snarky section of this fast food restaurant called Life. I’m the one passed out face-down in Stephen’s Day dinner leftovers, gravy in my hair, wearing what can only be described as ‘Turkey & Stuffing’ scented roll-on deodorant, cranberry sauce for blusher, crying into a balled-up paper hat from a Christmas cracker, its manky purple colour washing off and onto my hands and face. My New Year resolution will have been hurriedly scrawled in lipstick as an afterthought on some bloodstained wrapping paper. It will consist of one simple idea: ‘Don’t Text Him.’ The day after it is written, I will return to it and write, as post-script: ‘AGAIN’. I will repeat this exercise ad nauseum until the new court orders are up and running. I’m nothing if not a law-abiding citizen.
So ask yourself: why would you give a blistering bollock about any of these stupid glossy-arsed magazines who prattle on about ‘banishing those winter blues’ (don’t know about you, but all I ever got from them was paper cuts and a cripplingly low sense of self-worth). I ask: why banish them? What did the January Blues ever do to you that was so awful? They have as much reason to be here as those shiny happy socially acceptable feelings. Without them, you wouldn’t embrace the sheer Stepford Wankiness of the holly jolly festive season with the fervour that we’ve all come to know and love. Life is peaks and dips, and I much prefer the dips. The food is way better, the tea is plentiful, and my iPod playlist packs more of a punch.
January is made for this kind of wallowing. It IS horrible. It IS depressing. We ARE so broke that we start roaming department store beauty sections for samples of face wash until the next payday. So why fight it?
There’s nothing to gain from bursting a blood vessel while trying to put on a brave face. None of your favourite telly shows are back yet. Tom Hardy is still off the market. Emma Stone is still too painfully cool and stunning for you to be jealous when your other half goes on about her. The waistband of your jeans is just that little bit too uncomfortable to sit down in for long periods of time, so wearing baggy pyjama bottoms at home before dinnertime is a necessity rather than a luxury. The weather is absolutely shambolic for make up and hairstyles alike, and Celebrity Big Brother is still a thing that people watch. Is it any wonder we get out of the bed at all.
But don’t worry folks, it’s not all doom and gloom. Sure isn’t February nearly around the corner? Plenty of time to build up some active hatred for the clusterfuck of fake sentiment that calls itself Valentine’s Day. Bet you can’t wait to read what we have to say about that one.
Crappy New Year, everybody!