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# January Seventy-First
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/january-seventy-first/
- Published: 2026-01-31T10:02:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:12:16.000Z
- Description: "January Seventy-First," a typed-by-thumbs on iPhone poem for your scrolling pleasure. A musing on the endless days of the first month of the year and how a constant connection to the world can make it feel even longer. Poem 031 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: Macro
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Poems, Community, Doomscrolling, Fight or Flight, Hope, Humor, January, Prayer, Stress, Technology, Time, Winter, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

It has become  
the Internet’s   
fond pastime  
to bemoan   
and begrudge  
those infinite  
days of January.  
  
That time   
between the   
first and   
the thirty-first  
ever stretches  
on in dark and   
grey and slushy  
milliseconds.  
  
And we laugh  
temporarily   
when we see  
a reel or post  
or meme or   
thread that  
proves   
we are not   
alone.  
  
That others  
too  
feel the cold  
slog of time  
brings me  
a certain  
gallows unity.  
  
That this year,   
then the next  
is certainly  
the worst  
January yet.  
  
But this year,   
2026,   
may really be  
*The* 
*Longest* 
*January.*  
  
Hyper-informed  
yet   
under-powered,  
I scroll through  
tiny videos  
and wee text   
on my   
Apple device,   
blue light  
invading my   
retinas as I  
witness   
pixelated   
mass tragedies  
and brutal   
executions   
and hilarious  
parodies   
and well-cited   
take-downs  
then a delicious  
Korean ribs   
recipe next AI   
capybaras  
on a beach  
followed by a   
solemn statement   
from a corporation   
taking a stance  
on something  
*who knows what—*   
  
What’s this,   
Oh no!   
I pause  
in my tracks  
and mourn   
as I read the   
death   
announcement  
for my   
favorite actor  
Catherine  
O’Hara   
My on-screen  
*Mom*  
My idol  
gone  
without   
warning  
too young  
at 71.  
*Kevin!*   
  
Reeling,   
I continue   
my digital   
slot machine  
pulls —  
come on,   
cherries —   
willing the app  
to serve me  
sufficient   
explanations  
for where   
the world  
is going:  
  
The Why   
of it all  
is in here  
*I just know it.*  
  
I glimpse   
the latest   
on the Budget  
*Will we* 
*shut down?*  
  
Now  
six stories  
in a row:  
hot takes   
from   
several   
somber  
faces of   
followed  
social   
influencers,  
their heads   
superimposed  
over thickly  
redacted   
documents   
as they   
spell out  
what lurks in   
the latest   
tranche  
that’s hit   
the web—  
all this   
zooms  
past my   
winter-chapped  
thumb.  
  
*I need* 
*a manicure.*  
  
I absorb   
and   
accumulate  
the tension  
the fear  
the anger  
the grief  
the snark  
the laughter  
the umbrage  
the homage  
and the gore  
which flow  
from fingertip  
to frontal lobe.  
  
It has been  
like this,   
for  
every hour   
every day,   
since   
New Years.  
  
I have  
felt so deeply  
so broadly  
each headline  
clip and   
cartoon and  
sound bite  
piercing my   
heart and   
the brain   
and my   
sympathetic   
nervous  
system  
*Fight!* 
*Flight!* 
*Freeze!* 
*Fawn!*   
in this   
first month  
of 2026.  
  
This January  
I have   
lived   
through  
decades   
centuries  
millennia  
*Eternity.*  
  
I close  
the app  
and bless  
myself  
with a  
nano  
prayer:  
  
*May* 
*tonight* 
*end gently* 
*and may* 
*February* 
*fly by.*