Fuck You April

(Ice pack brain freeze selfie)

I try not to go full-metal-wackjob about entire months you guys, but I’ve never been so happy to be done with a month In. My. Life. 

April sucked!

Hallelujah! It’s MAY!

Maybe it was the Mercury retrograde, maybe solar flares, all I know is that it was a shitshow. A circus full of monkeys, who drove tiny little clown cars filled with farts that followed me from week to week like a bad friend who insists on asking you to smell something horrible.

I started the month with a mouth full of sores. While they were all pretty painful, I had two the size of dimes on my lips that kept me from eating and drinking and of course, I didn’t lose an ounce which only added insult to injury.

Then I got an abscess. In a molar. On a weekend. Apparently, I broke the root of a tooth that had been killed long ago by a root canal. I probably did it by grinding my teeth due to some unresolved family issues that were torturing me while I slept. So, on the 30th, as a lovely parting gift from this month from hell, I had oral surgery to pull the tooth and install an implant. 

So, if you’re keeping score (and why wouldn’t you be) my mouth took a beating in April. I lost my ability to kiss and I get bitchy when I can’t kiss.

If I ask the Universe why, which I do about everything, I get that it was because I didn’t speak my truth. My words were filled with rage and I bit my tongue. Figuratively and literally. 

People, don’t do that! It always catches up with you! I’d tell you that but I can’t use my mouth right now, it’s swollen shut (my husband is beyond grateful) and I’m icing it with my homemade frozen corn ice pack. 

I’ve used my homemade, frozen corn ice pack twice this month which is twice more than at any other time in my life! I hobbled around like a bent over crone for a week after an almost-fall on my hike (which I’ve come to find out is just as bad as a real fall —same pain from all of the aerobic contortions I used to stay upright— just without the bloody knees). Only my trusty corn-ice-pack got me back on the hill so I have to love it, but truth be told, when all of this is water under the bridge I’m going to light it on fire and feed the popcorn to the squirrels. 

My husband told me once how his grandfather, a French titan of industry, hated the month of April. That is, until 1953, when my butterball, Buddha baby husband was born on the eleventh day of that very month. All of his life he found it to be a cruel and inauspicious month, which in French sounds gorgeous but wreaks havoc on your life if you really believe it.  I think it stuck in the back of my mind, so when all of the havoc rained down on me, of course, it had to be April!

Several of my friends fell into depressions, pets died, vacations canceled, kids suddenly went into the hospital, relationships that seemed stable failed. Even the weather went schizophrenic! It couldn’t make up its mind if it was summer or winter.

You and I both know that a month doesn’t have the power to ruin lives, it’s just a collection of hours, days and weeks. But we can also agree that sometimes it seems as if a certain month conspires to be our undoing. 

Many of you hide under the covers until December is over.

I know people who hate January—too may pounds on the scale, too many bills to pay, too many resolutions to break. 

Mine is April. (Thanks Grandpa!)

Now that it’s May, a month that is all clean slatey to me, birds will sing, the sun will shine, and I’ll be able to use my mouth again for more than just gargling warm salt water.

God help us all! 

Carry on,
xox