Get your pom poms out of my face and fight fair

 This is STILL America isn't it? Isn't there some amendment out there that guarantees my right to hate the month of March, unimpeded by positive people intent on turning my thirty-one-frickin'-days of frowns upside-down? Garrison Keillor (RIP dear Companion) once said that "March is the month created to show people who don't drink what a hangover is like." Dang straight. Germ-y. Dismal. Gray. Sleety. Slushy. Sneezy. False hope. More false hope. I will not be fooled. And did I mention the thirty-one-frickin'-days?

And this particular March was even WORSE! My inner voice that always quietly worried that the world was against me became a roar of reality. The world IS against me. With the battle lines drawn between good and evil, the people chose a clear side. NOT mine.

Was it her unwaveringly bright smile? The magical lilt of her voice? Her buoyant personality? Her caring nature? Unflappable resolve? Toned calves? Or was I just THAT easy to despise? In the epic March War between Erin and Amy...Amy is clearly losing. Allies quickly joined Erin's ranks. I was besieged by the armed forces (also known as the "huggers")-Tess and Michelle, and assaulted by the propaganda team ("Et tu, Kathy?"). I was unceremoniously tossed under the bus by fellow March-hater, "If-I-had-my-way-I'd-kill-EVERY-leprechaun-out-there-Traci," who admitted that she was grateful for the break from Erin's eternal optimism. There was a double-crossing musical composer who infiltrated the PA system with uplifting lyrics ("You promised me funeral dirge songs, Aaron!") and a cinematographer (Linda!) who captured Erin's choreographed cheer-leading routine in my classroom. Even the school secretaries bailed on me. Joanne sported a sparkly shirt to inspire me and Tracey would wish me a sparkle-filled day as she power-walked past my door.

Amy (Erin's First Lieutenant), me (Obviously enjoying their
attention), and Erin (The bane of my existence)

Don't get me wrong, I've fought valiantly to the bitter end. I'd had a loaded squirt device at the ready for WEEKS, waiting for Erin to enter my lair. When she came bursting through the door, pom poms in hand, cheerleader skirt swooshing, pony-tail bobbing and launched into a personalized dance routine designed to uplift my spirits, I unleashed a hailstorm upon her. Unbowed beneath this beastly baptism, she asserted that it would only serve to help her glisten and glow even more. I couldn't believe it. It was like she was a citizen plucked straight from Who-ville. She emerged from my flood of fury, my downpour of depression...even stronger. I believe her pom poms were even more perky (And that's factoring in that she's no longer in her twenties!).

I've taken some hits, to be sure. I'm listing to the side. Wounded. Wobbly. Alone.

So alone.

But across the desert of depression that is March, I see the end in sight. The light at the end of the tunnel. April is ahead. I have but a few scant days left to battle...I refuse to run up the gray flag of truce. I will NEVER surrender! I will, as God as my witness, fight for my right to be miserable! "Smiling is for suckers!" I shout as I rally for this final engagement. I plot my course. Bind my wounds. Toss back some tequila and...CHARGE!!!