I would rank January as the worst month of the year. February only requires you to wade through about 28 or so cold days before spring arrives. December brings parties, procrastination, and excuses to pause routines like daily meals (third dinner) and portion sizes (cocktails fit for Ina Garten). You’re facing 31 bleak days in January, the legal limit, and there’s no hope that things will get better anytime soon.
Ideally I’d like to see January disappear from the calendar, but people will have to live with it. Over the years, I’ve developed a survival guide from my Northeastern berth to ensure I’ll survive Valentine’s Day.
Starting with your hands, I’m sure your hands look terrible at this point. I divided the hand creams into progressive levels, similar to the military-ready DEFCON model. We’re starting with Level 3: everyday products like Jergens or Lubriderm, which are hydrating but lightweight and absorb quickly into your hands, so you can apply it and leave the house.
Then again, how many times do you actually leave the house in January? Heading to level 2, you have your choice: a neon green tube called O’Keeffe’s Work Hands, or a slightly darker green tube called Weleda Skin Food. These names show we’re taking it seriously. They’re heavy and take some time to sink in, but not so heavy that they’ll stop you from rolling in for your dream flight to Miami.
Peak, Level 1, should only be applied before bed, or anytime you feel like “this requires an actual DEFCON 1 situation” in January. [imminent or current nuclear war] Get me off this spot on the couch. That’s where Eucerin’s Original Repair Cream comes in, which treats skin spots. Apply to your hands, elbows, maybe not your feet – they’re too far away. Wear socks until spring.
Don’t move until the thick white slime seeps into your sad winter skin. It may take several days. I’m reminded of the Go-Gurt joke in Ellen DeGeneres’ old special. “Did you have big mobility problems when drinking yogurt before?” she asked, then pretended to pick up the phone and receive an invitation from a friend. After a while, her mood soured, she remembered that she had just opened a traditional yogurt that had to be eaten with a spoon. She was apparently unable to keep her appointment due to the complex tasks at hand.
Eucerin Original Repair Cream is the yogurt and spoon of January. As Ms. DeGeneres said, you do it tonight. Use when your skin is very dry, or when you have a social event and want an excuse to leave.
This next part of my survival guide is medically unwise, but I’ll tell you anyway. First was a space heater recommended by a trustworthy website and worked great except for the part that caused sparks in my kid’s room. Or did it? I forced myself to forget about possible sparks – it was so cold out there! —until one day my husband plugged it in, smelled something burning, and discovered the cord had melted. Then all the lights in the house went out.
I think blowing the circuit would be best. As he walked into our basement, I conducted a cost-benefit analysis: warmth versus risk of death. I came out somewhere in the middle. Now, I only use our other space heater when I’m alone or in the office, so the danger is limited to me. My husband and kids will survive and they will be colder for it.
Space heaters are conventional, though. My greatest achievement is my heating pad. This feels so innovative – how many people use heating pads for everyday warmth, comfort, and, let’s be honest, some level of companionship? I researched, ordered, and returned until I found what I was looking for: a medical-grade device that might not be legal in the United States. This thing gets hot, especially when you remove the outer shell to reveal the inner layer, which has a warning in all caps: “Never use mat without lid.” I ignored that.
I mainly wrap my hands in delicious heating pads. Four years ago, I developed a condition called chilblains, which is when your fingers basically stop functioning due to the cold. The situation is serious. Your fingers feel like ice. They swell and then break apart. Then things got really bad. My husband thought I must have accidentally closed the door with my hand. The dermatologist told me it was chronic.
But he didn’t know the power of my 75 watt heating pad. I walked around the house with that thing. When it started acting a little wonky, I bought two more as an insurance policy, prepared for the inevitable day when it would be banned in the country. My skin condition has been in remission for two winters. I’m sure I’ve beaten it.
I don’t know why this January has exhausted me so much. Is it our new puppy? Is this karma for blatantly removing the heating pad cover?
Whatever the reason, my fingers were cold and swollen. I gradually increased the intensity of my use of the heating pad. At the same time, a spider web-like rash began to appear on my thighs. It lights up red in the shower. I related the rash to a heating pad that happened to be on my leg while I was treating my finger, but I didn’t really care—until my doctor husband told me that I might have permanent damage.
I seemed to have brought upon myself a new condition, one evocatively named “Toasted Skin Syndrome.” Another dermatologist (this time on Instagram) told me this is forever.
I unplugged the heating pad but couldn’t help but stare at it. My fingers are so cold. I started to feel like I had only bad options: heat away the chilblains and give myself roasted skin syndrome, or let my fingers wither and keep my creamy white thighs.
I did that two days ago and plugged the heating pad back in, cursing myself for throwing away the protective cover years ago.
Not long ago, cartoonist Roz Chast drew a New Yorker cover representing the January calendar. Each day contains a typical seasonal entry. “Lost the keys in the snow.” “Sliding on the ice.” “It’s still January.” (The last one was January 3.)
January 31st looks like a giant yellow sun with stars on it, labeled “Last Day of January!” I put a lid on my office where the space heater is still creaking.
