Today is supposed to be the most depressing day of the year.
Hardly surprising really.
You slobs have been eating too much over the holidays, and no wonder: obviously you needed at least that comfort to deal with your mom's incessant yammering about your singlehood/boyfriend/father/all of the above...
You've spent too much in the post-holiday sales, thinking that after spoiling your friends and family rotten, you might as well do a little something for you, and boy had you underestimated that little something, and have now so maxxed out your credit cards that you're wondering if filing a complaint against your banker for moral harassment would work...
By today, you've realized that for the twentieth year in a row, your new year's resolutions - work out regularly, finally start that pottery class you always wanted to go to, be a better listener to your mom/friends/dog... - meant zilch to your willpower-deprived, self-indulgent brain...
Winter is dragging on, and due to the overeating, you don't fit in those beautiful flashy blue ski pants that you bought at the sales, which is just as well really, because after your fabled sales spree, you just couldn't afford a skiing holiday anyway, even though, out of the whole wide world, you're probably the one most deserving a week-long break on the slopes, complete with mulled wine, fireplaces, bearskins, writh- sorry.
Let's not even get started about those of you in a relationship that you're dying to get out of, and those of you outside of a relationship that you're dying to get into.
Plus it's Monday. You have to get back to work after a weekend of sheer debauchery and no constructive action whatsoever. That hated, despised, and oh-so-unfulfilling workplace that you'd vowed to quit last year to pursue your true calling, a career in pet makeover, and yet here you are, ready to play carpet to your boss's despotic fantasies involving stationery orders and filing cabinets.
And so today, you're even more depressed than usually.
Fret not, dear friends. I'm here for you.