I’ve been ill. Not in the way Lil Wayne means it, well, yes in that way ’cause I just can’t help it, but also in the literal sense of not feeling well. Headaches, nausea, feeling really hot, it’s all been bad. Not really like being sick, just uncomfortable. I believe these are symptoms of what I would like to call, “February Syndrome.”

The semester has shifted itself into full gear and we have finally arrived at the month of February. The worst month. The month is so bad, Julius Caesar decided to only give it 28 days, and 29 on a leap year. Seriously leap year? You must be the most confusing and pointless attribute of all calendar attributes. Your association with February makes you suck. I’m hating on you, and I don’t even really know why you exist! My apologies to those with birthdays in February and to Valentine’s Day and to Black History month, but the month in which you happen to reside makes me cranky.

There is so much about February that is a giant tease. This year it offered the Super Bowl on its first day. Enticing us with the wonders of man’s favorite Sunday evening, only to leave us with NOTHING for the rest of the month. How can I, as a fairly unreasonable human being, expect to go from the glory of pigging out on pizza and everything else while watching oversized men try to drill each other into the ground interspersed with brilliant 30-second commercials to studying for a Calculus III test? It’s just absurd! The Super Bowl is February’s high and it leaves you strung out for the rest of the month like a junkie.

Then there is the aforementioned Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day has the potential to be the most depressing day of the year, and for most of my life, it has been. There is only one circumstance in which Valentine’s Day can be a success (for a guy), and that happened to me for the first time last year. You must have someone whom you love deeply, (notice the “whom.” I don’t even care if it’s grammatically correct, it sounds educated). And that person must love you back, IMMENSELY, because if she doesn’t, good luck to you, sir. Then, you must orchestrate the night of her life, or at least a night that’s good enough not to make her think about what all the other guys in the world are doing for their girlfriends and assume that they are doing better than what is happening to her right now. Otherwise, Valentine’s Day is a lose-lose situation. You are either with someone who ends up in tears because, as a man, you failed the Valentine’s Day test, or you’re alone and end up with a candygram and a chocolate bar from your mother. You have no idea how HOT that makes me feel. Look at all the women who want me! I got chocolate and a candygram.

February used to come with the bonus of President’s weekend. A nice two-day vacation splitting up the drudgery and gray cold, but college has ripped that from my icy claws. Now the remaining days until spring break, savior of my existence, dance on my calendar and tease me like jealous bitter leprechauns who are eager to make February last as long as possible. Maybe I’m insane, but maybe, just maybe, there really is such a thing as February Syndrome. I certainly have the symptoms—someone else find the cure, because I’m just too tired. Cheers!