Contrary to what Mr Eliot said, April is not the cruellest month. It's January. The holiday season is over, and the year lies ahead of you, blank, virgin, unwritten like the snow, some of which has even made its way to temperature-controlled London. Highgate looks very pretty today.
For some this can be exciting: all things are now possible, now's the time to start.
For others, the slow nothingness of January can be terrifying and depressing. Some call it Seasonal Affective Disorder. After the "I'm H.A.P.P.Y" song, it was only a matter of time before some clot in a position of power turned the word "sad" into an acronym. So it had to be a syndrome or disorder. If it does exist, I'm afraid I've succumbed.
I'm meant to be seeing the positive side of this polarising month, getting things done, and heaven knows I have so much to do. Articles to write, emails to reply to (many apologies), musical projects to get going, non-musical projects to get going, chores to do, overdue financial things to sort out, new clothes to seek out and buy before my old ones finally fall apart (a new cheap three-button suit, mainly). I badly need to have a complete clearing out of my possessions: I want to narrow my collection of books, CDs, videos and so on down to the bare essentials. I don't <i>need</i> a huge book collection when there are libraries and most of what I have isn't rare. I don't <i>need</i> a huge vinyl and CD collection when there are mp3s and I am lucky enough to have an 80GB hard drive plus CDR-burner. In fact, I want to get rid of all my vinyl full stop. I need to do what that loud American woman on television (men are from Mars, women are from Venus, self-help books are from America) calls "The Life Laundry". She's annoying and heartless, but she does have a point. Cut down on your possessions before they possess you.
But I haven't started on any of that, because the negative side has gotten to me. It's mainly due to my old friends, Brother Depression and Sister Lethargy, outstaying their welcome once again. They paralyse me and I can't do anything at all. Letting the undone things just mount up so much I just stay in bed and hope they'll go away. All I want is to get things done rather than getting trapped in the cycle of spending day after in hiding from them, hoping the real world will leave me alone and pretend nothing unpleasant (like me) ever happened.
Looking at other diaries on the web, I realise the unhappy side of this time of year has a regrettably widespread effect. One diarist of my acquaintance has even posted what appears to be a genuine suicide note. Needless to say, I emailed them at once (I don't have their phone number) with all the emotive words I could muster to try and dissuade them. It's not the first time I've had to do that with people who write to me. Someone recently wrote in my diary's comments box that my journal attracts a lot of "desperate individuals". They meant it unkindly. But I've always found that aspect immensely flattering. I have several bulging folders of letters from unhappy sorts over the years (in the pre-email days) who have taken the time to write to me and bare their feelings. I haven't thrown any of them away. And even once I get this "life laundry" of mine underway, these letters will still remain far more precious than any book or record.
I hasten to add that doing anything rash and dramatic myself is currently out of the question: I haven't finished with this world just yet.
Apart from anything else, I'd miss the final Lord Of The Rings film.
So if that's true, I ask myself, then shouldn't I be getting on with the business of <i>living</i>?
