The Thing Each Birth Month Does When It’s Overwhelmed
Overwhelmed doesn’t always look like falling apart. Sometimes it looks like an unusually polite text, forty minutes spent choosing a charging cable, or a person making sandwiches who absolutely does not want to discuss their day. Everyone has a tell.
January: Takes Over Everything
January, you were already busy before you said, “Actually, just send it to me.” Someone needs a little longer with their part. Someone else has a question you could answer in two minutes, except explaining feels harder than doing it yourself. You take that part, too.
Soon you’re staying late to finish work that belonged to three people this morning. When a friend asks why nobody’s helping, you have to think about it. They were helping. You kept asking for the files back.
February: Leaves Everyone On Read
You open the message, February. You even know what you want to say. But your friend deserves something warmer than “nice,” your sister has asked three separate questions, and the group chat is apparently choosing a date by naming every day that doesn’t work. You put the phone down. Later, you pick it up to reassure someone you aren’t ignoring them, spend several minutes drafting that reassurance, and put it down again. Your closest friend has learned that a brief appearance of the typing dots sometimes means you’re alive, you love them, and that’s all you’re managing today.
March: Watches Something You’ve Already Seen
March, tonight is a terrible night for somebody to recommend a brilliant new series. You don’t want to learn six names and wonder which one is hiding something. You want the episode where you already know why everyone ends up in the hallway.
The opening music starts, and for once nothing needs figuring out. You know who apologizes. You know the misunderstanding won’t last. Halfway through, you say a line just before the actor does, with the same inflection. Finally, someone is following the script.
April: Tries To Do It All Faster
The more you have to do, April, the faster you move between things. You start writing a reply standing up. On the way to find a document, you notice a package that needs returning and go looking for tape. The half-written reply is still waiting when you remember the washing machine finished an hour ago.
“Give me one second,” you tell someone, passing them for the third time. They glance at what you’re carrying: a damp pillowcase, the return label, and no tape. “For which thing?”
May: Gives The Full Account
May, “How’s your day?” is about to become a much longer conversation than either of you expected. You start with the changed deadline, back up to explain yesterday’s call, then remember the favor you agreed to last week. “Wait, that part matters.” The person listening hasn’t interrupted. You’re arguing with your own attempts to shorten the story. Somewhere in the telling, you might discover which part has upset you most, but first they need to understand why the otherwise unremarkable email at 2:14 was the last straw. This will require a little background.
June: Makes Sure Someone Else Has Eaten
Your own day is a subject you’d rather leave alone, June. But someone says they skipped lunch, and suddenly there’s a question you can answer. You get out a plate. You ask whether they like mustard. You can make this particular afternoon better for this particular person without needing to solve anything else.
They take a bite and ask how you’re doing. You slide the other half of the sandwich toward them. “There’s more if you want it.”
July: Reads Too Much Into A Small Question
July, on another day, “Is this going in the dishwasher?” would be a reasonable question about a bowl. Today, you hear one more thing you haven’t gotten around to. “I was about to clear that up,” you say, more defensively than you meant to.
“Oh, I was just putting mine in. I can take yours.”
You hand it over. They ask if you want tea, and you say yes. You hadn’t realized how much you were expecting the next person who spoke to need something from you.
August: Gets Extremely Polite
August, people who don’t know you well might think you’re handling everything beautifully. Your replies are prompt. Your sentences are complete. You’ve thanked someone for their patience when, frankly, they have displayed very little of it. Keeping your manners intact has become the one part of the day you’re determined to manage.
Then you send a friend “That sounds lovely. Thank you for thinking of me.” They call almost immediately. Usually, you would have sent a ridiculous sticker and asked what time. It’s the flawless punctuation that worries them.
September: Researches One Tiny Decision
September, there are several big questions you can’t settle today. But you do need a longer charging cable, and that seems manageable. You check the length, read the reviews, compare the price. Then you find a review that contradicts another review. Now there are tabs.
Someone asks what you’re working on, and you say, “Just ordering something.” You’ve been just ordering something for forty minutes. Three nearly identical cables have survived your investigation, and you’re beginning to wish someone would give you one for your birthday.
October: Says Yes Before Checking
“Either works,” you say, October, relieved to have made one conversation easier. Yes, you can come earlier. Yes, that other place is fine. Each answer gets you out of a small negotiation you don’t have the energy to have. It’s only when you open your calendar that all those agreeable little messages meet one another. You’re expected across town at six and at a restaurant near home at six-fifteen. You stare at both entries, then at the message asking whether you could pick someone up on the way.
November: Turns Everything Down
November, you reach for the remote halfway through someone telling you a story. They stop, assuming you’re distracted by the television. You mute it and ask them to keep going.
Your phone buzzes on the table, and you switch it to silent.
“Am I bothering you?” they ask.
You shake your head. You want to hear the story. But the television was still talking, your phone kept buzzing, and you’d missed what happened after their coworker walked into the room. You set the remote down. “Okay. What did she say?”
December: Looks Up Somewhere Else To Be
December, you have no intention of abandoning your responsibilities. You are, however, checking how long it would take to get to a town where nobody has asked you to do anything. You zoom in on the map. There’s a place to walk by the water. There’s somewhere to get breakfast. You could spend a whole morning there without being useful to a single person.
You don’t book anything. You answer the message about tomorrow’s meeting. But you leave the map open, and when someone asks what you’re looking at, you say, “Nothing. Just somewhere.”