Remember in 12th grade English class when the poet T.S. Eliot said, “April is the cruellest month?” Not only did he not know how to spell “cruelest” but I’m convinced he didn’t know squat about February!

February will kick April’s butt in a heartbeat and spit on her while she’s lying in the mud. And February won’t even care if it has to go to the principal’s office or if it gets suspended for it. February isn’t scared of anything and is mean as a snake. February will end up in jail, one of these days.

You don’t believe me? Look around at your friends, wound up, spoiling for a fight. Look in the mirror — you’re itching for one, too, only because it’s February. Thank goodness it’s a short month; we can’t take more than what we got in it for length.

I remember when I was teaching high school English and German in North Carolina a long time ago, seeing the February calendar in the teachers’ lounge that read, “Don’t tell me to relax; it’s the stress that’s holding me together!” I remember thinking, “Yeah, you’re right!” It was so true that month in the 1980s that I remember it 40 years later.

In New Orleans, February was always carnival time. Mardi Gras Day falls in February or it’s getting dressed for it to happen in March, so that Februarys in New Orleans are fun and not stressful at all beyond the uncertainty of that year’s costume design. You might want to go to New Orleans if you want to hide from February altogether.

In the Northeast, I have noticed since the first year I arrived that Februarys are Fight Month, that I have more contretemps with people in February than in any other month. I try to stay out of them, but it’s not easy, what with cold and too much house-bound time, too little sunshine and not enough daylight, no local fruits or vegetables. I just ate a Krispie Kreme cinnamon bun for dinner, I was so keyed up. That’s not going to help a bit. And these days, people are anxious about politics and the outlying extensions of all they entail, and February is when we have the most home-bound time to read about it and get worked up some more.

And this year, there’s snow, there’s rain, there’s suddenly warmth, and then it all implodes again to a wavering cycle that, rather than making one feel happy that the ice-cold grip has relaxed, implies future total disaster. One day we’ll all be living in Miami, right here in western Massachusetts, and that doesn’t lessen anyone’s climate anxiety. This is Massachusetts, dang it. My 97-year-old neighbor Norm Nye told me the other day that, “Out of nearly 100 winters, this is the dumbest one I’ve ever seen.” If February turns into feeling like March (or later), what will give us joy in those months? Nothing but the sneaking terror of an impossible August, just like they now have in heat-ravaged New Orleans.

So, here’s what I’m thinking. February should become national “Let There Be Peace on Earth and Let It Begin with Me” month. Not that I’m sure I can manage this, but I think I have to try. Otherwise, goodness knows what might happen — I could swear out loud at work or something!

I’m thinking the antidote to February is small, local business. Those are the places that hold folks together. They get you out of your cocoons and introduce you to people you never knew before. They give you a place to hang out with those you love and acquaint you with new possibilities. They house your tribes, your countrymen, those who think the way you do. They make you feel warm, loved, comfortable and like family.

I just read where England appointed a new position a few years ago, the Minister of Loneliness. Now I’m not saying you’re lonely — we’re all just victims of February’s cruel sarcasm. But if you were lonely, what could be easier than going out to find the people who are interested in the same things you are? Grab one of the warmer-ish days and go out to a store, a music venue, the library or to your favorite restaurant, get yourself some good food you didn’t have to make yourself and sit down. Chances are, the person at the next table is just as in need of a good conversation — one that doesn’t involve a computer — as you are.

And you’ll be supporting the local businesses for your own generation as well as those for your young’uns. Get them off their phones and bring them with you. Real-life, up-close interaction brings a peace that no Zoom meeting will ever match. And it’ll show February that you mean business on your very own terms; it rules you cruelly no more!

Nan Parati lives and works in Ashfield, where she found home and community following Hurricane Katrina. She can be reached at NanParati@aol.com.