So I've mentioned that I'm mildly manic-depressive. Not the clinical lithium taking kind (although Lithium is my favorite Nirvana song, and all I can remember of chemistry is that lithium burns hot pink). Rather, I'm the sort of manic-depressive which I suppose all artists are. Periods of creative productivity and unbearable optimism alternate with periods of apathetic ineptitude. Well, that's how it feels, anyway. The truth is rarely so dramatic.

February has long been my least favorite month of the year. I suppose I'm lucky, since it's also the shortest. January typically starts off with some renewed promise - not resolutions per se, but that's the gist. But by the time February is drawing to a close, enthusiasm wears thin and I become quite sick of the cold. It's like Tuesday. Most people hate Monday because they're returning to work, but I always hated Tuesday. The second day of drudgery is worse than the first.

Or maybe it's just because my father died on a Tuesday in February, exactly twenty-two years ago on a sunny day like today. But if I inherited my dark sense of humor from my mom, my unyielding optimism surely comes from my dad. Having a day to codify the darkness gives me a starting point to renew the light.

But light and dark sounds so trite. I'd rather think of life in terms of waves. In the ocean, waves can carry you out to sea or back to shore. In life you can surf the waves and make the most of both the ups and the downs. There will always be good days and bad days. But to learn something from the bad days and make the most out of the good days... well, that sort of makes them all good days.

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