There are only 15 days left in February! This month has been so dreary, cold, and stressful that I’ve actually started counting down the time until March. Every December when it starts to get chilly and people complain about autumn in New York City finally coming to a close, I say, “December isn’t so bad. Just wait until January and February. That’s real winter.”

Then January comes, the temperature drops, my dog gets taken to off-leash hours at Prospect Park less frequently, “But wait until February,” I say. “February is always the worst.”

Finally, it’s actually February and a few days into the month I start feeling a little glum. My dog is depressed because it’s just too cold to spend 45-minutes at the park. I’m depressed because my apartment is so drafty that the curtains are closed all day. (What is this thing called sunlight?) Suddenly nothing I’m working on is exciting. I want to move. I want to cut off all my hair – preferably in the six-year-old way of using non-professional scissors. I hate my clothing but hate going into clothing stores more. My apartment is covered in muddy bootprints and dust but there’s no use in cleaning when it’ll be just as bad in another day. But why? Why is this sudden bout of ennui? What in my life has gone so terribly wrong since January?

Answer? The month of February.

Somehow, a case of the Februaries always comes as a complete surprise. It’s like counting down to Christmas only to forget to celebrate it on the day-of. (If you somehow love this time of the year and need further proof that February is the worst, I give you this classic essay by The Daily Show’s Samantha Bee.)

So if you’ve been feeling down and couldn’t quite put your finger on why, blame it on February.

We’re almost halfway through.