#192: April is Not the Cruelest Month

April is Not the Cruelest Month

There’s nothing cruel about
April, except for the fact that
it’s not May, and the only
problem with May is that
it’s not June. June may be,
in my humble opinion,
the kindest month of all.
If I had to choose, though,
a replacement for T.S. Eliot’s
cruelest (what was he thinking?)
I think it would have to be
January. I say, “it would have
to be.”  I just pulled that out
of my hat. It doesn’t have 
to be January, but it’s a start
and I think I’m sticking with it.
January is the beginning of
the new year, and that’s nice
enough, but the weather’s bad
and there’s always, always
this kind of pressure then
to start fresh, to be good, to
make promises, to make
amends, to lose weight,
to drink less, to exercise more,
to write more, to make more
music, to be better: a better
dad, a better husband, a
better teacher, a better eater,
sleeper, household keeper–
and I’m sick of it, frankly.

January is the cruelest month.
It asks too much of us.
It’s relentless.
It comes back every year
and haunts us
eleven
months
in
a
row.