Cause everything little things gonna be allraaaight

January is like the asshole month of the year. The colon, if you will. December might be the last month of our Gregorian Calendar, but with Christmas and pagan festivals all scrunched into those 31 days, December is more the liver-beating month than the colon.

This is the month where all the shite decides to come out. And every person ends up feeling “kuk”. Slow. Sad. Losers defined. Destiny questioning.

It is why UNISA does so well. This is the month where people resolve to really finally DO something with their lives! And taking yet another degree or course in some interior-design-metaphysical-astronomy seems like just the answer to save them from the blueness of excreting January.

What hope do we have – we keep asking ourselves subconsciously.

For the past two months you have woken up each morning & either thought, aaaah, summer holidays are on their way. I CAN get through this. Evenings are lasting longer step-by-step, and so are the cocktail happy hours. Indulgence builds up in the system as excuses abound.

Or you are waking up with the summer holiday very much on top of you, cuddling your happiness, maybe even nudging at it for a bit of morning glory attention.

And the next thing…. it is mid-January. You wake up thinking, “What’s today?? What do I have to look forward to?? I am not hangover, so it must be early-to-mid-week. Maybe I have a beach to look forward to?? Argh. No. I JUST returned from one.”

And the idea of eleven months of complete unknown, with a winter slap bang in the middle, a detox session half way through, weight from a year ago still clinging on, work deadlines put off to next year now being overdue, hobbies imagined still un-materialised all just become too much. Time is too long in January.

AND! AND! Now, in 2007, every damn news story is how we waited too long. Global Warming is upon us. And we’re fcked. January weather worldwide is always insane. But now the media is having a sensationalist field day in saying it is your sorry ass fault. YOU personally, having used spray deodorant since you were 13, have caused mudslides in bluddy Egypt & Vesuvius is about to burst its lava-encrusted banks (Kid you not. That was a story on BBC this morning).

I am unsurprised that my colleague appears so despondent at present. That even my eyes are feeling so dejected and refusing contact lenses, while my mind & body don’t even bother to battle one another out of bed. People’s posts & emails are one-lined and weep-worthy.

January Sadness was first pointed out to me by some Frenchman in Europe. He warned me of its dangers. I awaited through Christmas markets and mulled wine sessions with trepidation. But I realised that, oh how so so wrong he was, because January in Europe means one thing – open ski season! And life was good.

Now it is mosquitoes and heat. Work and deadlines. Job socialising events to build morale. Standing in two hour queues to explain to an untrained UNISA official in the suburb of Florida what Honours in International Politics means. Fighting with family because reality is glaring. And having NO option to apologise, or to suffer a far worse fate – and recognise your bank balance can afford you but an apartment in the ground floor of Ponte.

I have no help for you. Sushi always makes my world better. But now, apparently, we have overfished our shores, and there is a fish shortage. ….If nothing else, saying that after two glasses of wine makes me giggle like a fool. And if I cannot be anything else, I’d be happy to be a fool.

Where’s Bob…

[But, hey, here’s an idea…go and get yourself tested: Please note that the HIV counselling offered by clinical psychologist Khumo Seopela will resume in the new year. The counselling is offered free of charge at the Sunday Times offices at 4 Biermann Ave, Rosebank, Johannesburg, on Saturday mornings between 9am and noon. To book a session for , please fax (011) 280-5151, or e-mail counselling@sundaytimes.co.za Bookings will be taken on a first-come, first-served basis. The sessions will take place in private.]