This is nothing like the worst day of the year. This is the tailwind assisted, mostly downhill run to summer, warmer times, and the better days, if only because you don't have to turn your jumper arms the right way round every morning.
Christmas is out of the way so you don't have to spend any money now for ages, the food is gone so there's no guilt about eating low-grade chocolate baubles and furry ham all day, spring is coming so you can reduce the gas bill direct debit, and there's Easter and pancake day and all sorts of other lovely reasons to carry on living. It's all good from now!
No, today's fictional construct of Blue Monday is nothing like the most depressing day of the year. Take these gloomy days for a start...
Facebook/Twitter Account Registration Anniversary
Oh. Really? That seems like an unfathomably large number of years and percentage of my adult life I've spent sat here comparing hairlines with former friends (Facebook) and being angry at what passes for a popular opinion (Twitter). Maybe the next time one of these grim portals puts some animated balloons on the page because I stupidly gave them my real birthday I'll delete the pair of them, and get some precious as-yet unwasted hours of my future back.
The dog thinks it's a war and it's all his fault, the old ladies can't sleep for imagining a rocket landing in the gutter and burning the house down, this group of teens is stressed that the fireworks they illegally acquired won't go off as loudly as the ones their rival gang got hold of, dad's worried he'll have to go out in the cold and spend £6 (x4) on cups of some shit soup while being cold, and even the kids would rather be in bed streaming the 12-part Netflix CG event based on an actual fireworks night. Maybe this year there won't be a 50-minute queue for a hotdog. But there will.
Morrissey's New Album Launch Day
Men in their 40s will be looking unusually sad on March 20 this year, as Morrissey is releasing a whole new album of more songs. Never before has anyone needed an intervention as much as the poor old man, who really should stop making songs and stick to the legacy hits tours with Spandau, Duran Duran, Level 42 and A-ha. He'd get on the poster above Level 42. And please no promotional interviews with the media beforehand. Please. Oh god no he already has, and there's eight pages of what he thinks about freedom of movement in the next Big Issue.
Apple Product Reveal Day
At around 5pm on the day in question, all my internet safe places are full of the requoted opinions of Americans I don't remember asking anything saying "Wow" and declaring that something that can do what my phone can already do is a game changer. And this new thing costs four times as much as my thing. And yet, if I say something like "Hang on, are you all mad?" and point this out, I'm the bad guy? This is the best candidate day for staying in bed with your eyes closed as an experiment to see what it'll be like when you're 92 and abandoned in a care home, except no one will come when you call.
Might be projecting a bit here, but... have you ever had an actually nice birthday? Mine always wilt under the weight of expectation. Yes, the presents are fine. Yes, it fits. Yes, the colour is fine. Yes, I will throw my beloved old one away immediately and only use this new one from now. Yes, I love the way it says "MOUNTAIN WAREHOUSE" across the chest. Yes, lunch is lovely. Yes, the day is unfolding well. No, I am not only thinking about how few birthdays I have left. No, I am not hating this. Yes, I am fine. No, I am not grinding my teeth. My hands are often in fists like this.
Red Nose Day
Imagine a Michael McIntyre routine without end, only it's worse, as there are serious bits making you feel guilty about sitting there eating a biscuit. And these serious bits are even less funny than Michael's listing of facts about things people do, accompanied by the strutting/pecking movement he does with his head when he thinks he's on a roll. And all the mini Doctor Who episodes they keep churning out are ruining the canon. They should just tax Ed Sheeran an extra one per cent and leave it there, save us from the suffering.
December 23, Inadequacy Panic Day
The day before Christmas Eve, and the coming of the horrible feeling that you haven't spent enough money on presents for people. You're going to get all the Lego you wanted and nice jumpers you might actually wear and sweets and creamy liqueurs to take the edge off the afternoon, but all the presents you've bought for people are crap. Everyone has spent twice as much on you as you have on then. You're an ungrateful tight arse, one crap sub-£5 present away from getting a visit from three angry ghosts.
Obviously if you're single it's terrible, as it's a reminder nobody loves you and SPOILER never will, but if anything it's worse when you're in a relationship. How much do you spend? How much do you pretend? Shall we agree not to bother? None of the cards accurately represent what I really think about you, read into that what you will.
Everywhere's booked and we'd both rather sit in different rooms looking at our phones anyway, wouldn't we? Oh no, wasn't I supposed to say that? But it's true, like something Michael McIntyre might say. Now we're not going to talk to each other for a fortnight? WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE? That was a joke. I was shouting for comic effect. Oh Christ, don't cry.
Pre-Remembrance Sunday Friday
The Friday before, when outrage about who is or isn't wearing a poppy reaches its peak. A newsreader accompanied one with a pink tie, the disrespectful oaf. Someone else only wears white ones now because that means something slightly different. That weatherman has been wearing the same enamel one for a decade, so is getting out of contributing. Unleash the mustard gas on him. Everyone seems so sad about remembering something that most of them are fortunate not to actually, personally remember at all.
When all the Bluetooth speakers and electric toothbrushes no one wanted on the previous Friday appear again, and for the same price. It turns out no one was holding back any amazing super-secret deals for the Monday, it's merely the same miserable collection of junk for the same arbitrary discounts, like £7 off a light bulb that had no reason to be £45 in the first place, weird bodybuilder protein powders in 45kg vats, memory foam insoles and smart doorbells. It's enough late-capitalism shame to make you actually want to visit your local farmer's market.
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