May

May starts bad. Your allergies are absolute shit—every photo you take, you look wrecked. You’re stuck inside despite the sun being everywhere, which makes no sense but that’s how it is. You eat beer-flavored chips for days and forget vegetables exist. The internet moves like it’s 1998. You wake up at 3 AM soaked because you got the blanket situation wrong. That February deal that seemed promising completely fell apart, and May is the month where you have to really sit with that failure. You’re wearing ballet flats because everyone else is. You think about the Klabautermann—that weird sailor myth—for no reason. Grey’s Anatomy ended again. That song was cool three weeks ago and now it grates. The Baltic trip is still months away. You’re generally depressed despite the weather.

But there’s another version of May that almost cancels the first one out. The sun is just relentless and good. Lykke Li’s voice hits different. Something about outdoor festivals and megaphones makes sudden sense. Your paycheck finally showed up. Cherry blossoms are blooming somewhere and you feel it secondhand. The Friends marathon is running and it’s strangely comforting. Fresh strawberries. Making actual peace with something from your past that haunted you. Outdoor sex again without getting busted. That blonde in the window who’s become part of your May mythology. Labello Milk & Honey lip balm—that specific smell. Fermentation experiments that work. Chocolate sauce on spaghetti. Good water. Warm weather smell.

May’s the month where you can’t decide which version is true. Some days the sun covers everything and you’re invincible. Other days you’re drenched and furious at 3 AM and none of it matters. The oscillation never stops.