Mental Health Days by Helen Chappell
The March winds will blow, And we will have snow And in the barn The robin will tuck his head Under his wing, poor thing. T.S. Eliot may have pronounced April the cruelest month, but maybe he was too busy working at the bank to note the relentless awfulness of March. The month is like an older sibling that dangles a shiny object, like the sun, in front of you, then snatches it away, leaving you with three feet of icy snow on a day when you absolutely have to be somewhere. Oh, sure, you think winter is finally over and at long last you’re going to get your vaccination, but noooooo. Arctic chill rips through your hopeful daffodils, and before the salt trucks come, you realize you’re out of coffee. That’s March. If I were Queen of the World, which I am most assuredly not, I would make it my royal command that everyone would get a mental health day at least once or twice a year, especially in March. A day where you could skip work, stay home all bundled up with a cup of hot chocolate and hours worth of binge-watching or
reading or crocheting or whatever. You could slip on a disguise and take a shopping trip, or slip into an afternoon matinee. You may want to kayak up a gut, work in your shop, take a hike, go to the Farm and Tractor Store, whatever. Whatever you need. A high tide f loats all boats. 9
