February

Fucking February. What the hell. It doesn't even have a logical spelling. February is not a logical month. Everybody is unhappy in February. Especially this February. Everyone around me is falling apart. I haven't hardly been able to leave Hill House for fear of an asthma attack, and everyone (myself included, of course) is heartbroken. Well. Not everyone, but a lot of people. Even those I know who haven't really been through any major trauma look drawn and pale, eyelids heavy, lips nervously twitching up at the corner as I pass them.
At the very least, my birthday is coming. My birthday has often been a sort of reward for living through February, but this may have been the worst February yet(though I do recall feeling pretty fucking dreary around this time last year).
There's snow outside. It's really beautiful. I was disappointed that I was too sick to go out and play in it when it fell a few days ago, but I still sat at my window and enjoyed it. It calmed me down some, I think, at the time. It made things feel benevolently important. I know I should be getting to work on my paper, but I find that I've been itching to come back to this place and write. I don't know why. I have a journal, and this isn't something that people will see, but I still feel the need to spill words in type. I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that, even though I haven't given the URL of this place to anyone I know (except Kailyn, very recently), there is something satisfying about knowing that my words are out there, floating in the giant ocean of information we call the internet, and that on some level they could be found. Like a message in a bottle. Also, the voice I write in here feels a bit different from my journaling voice, so a different part of me is expressed here that I wasn't even aware of before. Maybe it's the fact that words come out faster when you type them. Quien save?
The fact is: I am enjoying this more and more.