February is the worst month. I don’t say this because of Valentine’s Day or whatever you onlookers assume my rotten heart despises – but because I grew up in Anchorage.

February in Anchorage is straight from the Ninth Circle of Hell. It’s colder than your grandma’s scowl when you wear shoes in the house and darker than Paul Ryan’s soul. I’m like, 99% sure Judas and Muhammad have their own bar stools at the local hipster dive there. Shorthanded: IT BLOWS MAJOR ASS.

And so it did for me.

I landed back in Anchorage on February 1st. Burning my corneas giving a SAD light the thousand-yard stare, I swung hard into a depression and hit that self-loathing curveball into the parking lot. Your girl was dying inside and didn’t know where to turn.

And when I don’t know where to turn, I somehow always end up on the Alaska Airlines website typing my credit card number into further debt while it rolls its eyes at me in contempt. “This isn’t going to fix you.” YES, IT IS, YOU DUMB, BLUE PIECE OF SWEET FAKE FREEDOM PLASTIC.

And to the City of Angels I went.

And in the City of Angels, I spent four days in a hotel room, taking mirror pictures, crying, and reading.

Oh, and I reluctantly went to a hockey game with a friend – er, acquaintance – from high school who blocked me on every social network as soon as we turned our tassels and then promptly unblocked me, re-added me, and slid his greasy ass into my DMs as soon as he found out I signed with Ford. Meh, I was bored and lonely. And drunk. Because I bought Tito’s Handmade Vodka (Satan’s drink of choice – trust me) from a Wholefoods by selling my kidney in the parking lot beforehand. It was the highlight of the trip, so glean from that what you will. A bitch was mad depressed.

I don’t remember much else about February. The dark seems to thread days together, their seams all fitting as one. I lost track of time; waking up in the dark, sleeping in the dark, moving in the dark.

But I decided to go back to Chicago.

And so to the gym I went. Losing weight, cutting inches, and eating things that made my tongue sad. A broken compass found me back on the Alaska Airlines website booking an endorphin-inducing one-way. I would leave in March…

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