Monday, February 27, 2006


The very end of February, the beginning of March: this is my least favorite time of the year. Too many unhappy memories are dated near here on the calendar, and so they return with more potency in this season, with pain and without fail, making me remember them. (It's good to remember, but it hurts, and I mourn the memories.) Although l have been surprised to discover that some memories are now less painful than they were once, I do not believe that time heals everything.

At least this year there is no February 29th. I dislike the date solely because of what it has come to symbolize for me. This is a morbid little anniversary, the end of February. It's one I cannot forget. If I could forget it, would I really want to do so? I rather doubt it. The fact that I can't forget at this time of year, I think, is much more good than bad.

(Contexts: severe depression, teenage years. See also a thought or two on memory.)