The Most Depressing Day of the Year

Ting-a-ling, motherfuckers. What’s going on? It is probably verging on the 25th or later by the time you’re reading this. That’s good news for you. NPR relates that scientists have determined January 24th is the most depressing day of the year. How they figured this out, I have no idea. That’s what they have decided on, though. Apparently, most people have given up on their New Year’s resolutions and are totally catatonic and depressed by the 24th, when their credit card statements have started rolling in, revealing the excess of holiday revelry. This revelation thus provides the suicidal urges that have people calling in to work or driving into to trees (or icy rivers—as pointed out by the nightly news: “I heard the car revving up,” some random bystander reports, “and then it just took off over the embankment and into the water”. They then cut to footage of a Ford Taurus bafoonishly floating in the icy water, the driver rescued).

Personally, I had a pretty rad day. My holiday stoicism and meager present-giving circumvented the whole January 24th depression day. Instead I shambled around all day, trying to find people who would share in my intense enthusiasm for getting drunk and going sleigh riding. I wasn’t very successful. People responded predictably, with wrinkled noses and contorted faces which suggested that either I am totally insane or they’re no fun. It’s cool. I don’t mind. Be depressed if you want to. What, you can only sit around when you’re getting drunk? Drinking Gin out of a brown bag while sleighing is sketchy? The last time I checked, there was no law against it.

I kind of like the idea of a national depression day, though. One day in a year where we would recognize the forces conspiring against us. You would be able to take that day off work and just do whatever, because hey, man, things are pretty fucking crappy. It’s all pretty much relative, though, I imagine. I’ll get mine, I’m sure. Just don’t be wondering what the hell is the matter with me next time you want me to hang around in Lark Tavern, scowling at the proliferation of bearded men in there. Because that just really bums me out.