The pathetic tragicness of November

What came first? November or depression? I can’t quite tell at this point.

Picture me, if you will – I’m sat in bed, a total of five (yes fucking five) cold sores across my bottom lip and two ulcers on my tongue (a sure sign that my internal organs are waving the white flag).

My nose is fully blocked, I am hardly breathing.

Have you tried singing wheels on the bus with only one blow hole?

There is condensation dripping down the windows, my heating is on full whack and my tired brain is stressing about the bills. And mould.

I’m sipping herbal tea and shoving a banana down my throat (please now, this is not the time) because I am trying to get my body to not give up by showing it some nutrients after ten months of gorging on nachos.

The topic of the day on breakfast television is ‘The Menopause’. I’m left thinking is this all there is?

My husband texts saying we forgot that it’s a fancy dress day at the Primary school our son goes to. So now I can add “a shit school mum who forgets simple fucking school requests”to my shitty mum CV.

Not only that but every single flipping advert is a Christmas advert with cute siblings on or reformed burglars … God help me when John Lewis bursts onto my screen.

Every time Phil Schofield says “after these messages” I’m a blubbering, hormonal, cold, shit mum mess.

It’s absolutely freezing and wet – going out for a walk is not a pleasurable experience. What’s the point? The only reason I leaped out of bed this morning was to check the bastard bin men were taking our bin – so I can get rid of the three stinking ones waiting in the kitchen.

November is also just a looming reminder that it’s nearly the end of the year, another year over …. (sings) and what have you done? Suddenly the promises that you made in January are back – laughing at you!

“Remember when you were going to go vegan?” you fat cow!

The nights are drawing in – whatever that means – it’s sodding dark. The kids don’t seem changed by the darkness – in the morning or evening. Days should be shorter … not in this house. I can barely keep my eyes open writing this. The year is taking its toll.

Therefore, after much consideration, I have decided that November is horrid. The most depressing month of the year. Bring on Christmas … ho, ho, no.

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