I hate the color of March. It is ugly and a tease and enjoys playing with you. Sunshine(ish). Filtered, partly to mostly to notly, and paired up with a balmy forty degrees. The B heats up your car and lures you in with warm caresses only to snap your *ss right back out into reality. Little things start climbing out of the ground while you squeal with stupid delight knowing that they’ll be covered up with her white trash at whim. Just a bruiser. Hard to tell where the mud and brown grass begin and end. Somehow my dog seems to know the difference and prefers the mud. Gotta love mud season. If you’re whacko. The trees are still naked which the B prefers, D tease that she is. (Hope everyone is following my alphabet soup. B makes me vulgar haha). Remnants of salt still cover the streets and walks just so your car isn’t tricked into looking good. Pimp needs to hustle. Ugly ugly wench. One of my favorite quotes is from Winston Churchill which might be a bit melodramatic but that’s kind of how I’m rolling here. “If you’re going through hell, keep going”. I’m sure he was talking about March and not war and peace and famine. Just sayin. The ugly B will blow away soon enough and let a more attractive sista turn her red light on. For now, however, I’m going to embrace my seasonal affective disorder and not feel weird for talking to a month. Effen B.