Why do you do this to me February? Only two days in, wind howls, grey clouds move across sky, across body. Heart beats, tightness, no sleep. Rain drops at 3:00AM, I want to love the sound, but I need the rest. Can’t shake death. February, why are you so addicted to death? You won’t take me, you won’t. I won’t become one with the wet soil, my ashes won’t flow down the stream, over the moss and smooth rocks, roots. Not Yet. What do the numbers mean? I imagine my veins thick with greasy oil, ready to block up any time. I don’t like to be sick, I especially don’t like this kind of sickness. One that’s haunted me for years, one that I fight against with all my might. But I’m always defeated. I realize there’s oil in everything, I look at the labels. I never thought to look for oil in pasta sauce, I didn’t think oil in the pan when I cook veggies would matter. I thought avocados and nuts were good for me. I realize I eat a lot of fats. My body can’t handle it. I lay awake last night worrying about how to eat only vegetables and no oils. I start to take an anti-anxiety pill again. My mind can’t handle this fear of death. I remember my mom laying in the hospital bed, her body shutting down after a massive heart attack. She’s too young, I thought. She was so healthy, I thought. “NO OIL” the book says. You can reverse your heart disease, it reads. Can I? Can I fight this? Why is everything a fight, a struggle, such hard work? I got in my studio today and that was good. I took my dog for a long walk and ate salad and oatmeal. Today I’m tired, burnt. Last week was rough. February is here. Birth stories, wild flowers, green grass, rainbows. I will fight to heal my body, even though I feel like I do so good at keeping myself heathy, that’s the most depressing part. And the memories of my mom and my possible fate. No matter what I do. It’s scary and sad and I feel fragile.