Now that we're in April, I can announce that I hate the month of March. It's the most miserable month for weather. Every climate I've lived in has basically sucked in the month of March. In Texas it was windstorms and pouring rain and tornadoes. In Florida, it was generally nice enough but not quite warm enough for the beach (a truly grave disappointment in my early 20s). Now that we live so far north, March wavers between more damn snow and rain that melts what snow there is, leaving everything a gloomy mud color.
The weather is the least of my dislike though. Year after year, the blasted month of March drops some kind of bombshell on me. I've grown accustomed to it. Every year, I hope this will be the year that breaks the streak even as I brace myself for whatever might be around the corner.
This year, I thought that by NOT mentioning it, I might be able to break the streak. When we had reached the second to last day of March with no disasters, I kept my mouth shut lest I jinx this seemingly brilliant luck. I should have known better.
As disasters go, it certainly wasn't dire, but on March 31st, we got our tax forms in the mail from our accountant. I then had to wave good-bye to nearly $2,000 that I'd been hoping would go towards IVF. As disasters go, I guess it could been so much worse. Other years have certainly dealt more serious blows and at least we had the cash saved up and could pay up without penalty and interest. Still.