Surely there is a cosmic explanation for why March hates me.
March comes in like a lion, and goes out like a thief with at least one expensive personal item and a little bit of my peace of mind in tow. Last year, in March, my bike was stolen from in front of my yoga studio, just when we were saving for our wedding expenses. This year, my iPhone was stolen, just when we were close to having our honeymoon savings deep enough to purchase plane tickets to San Francisco. Next year, I will just budget $500 for replacing whatever item will be taken from me.
Last March I was having serious challenges with my family as the Monkey and I planned our wedding – arguments that really robbed me of sleep and sanity. This March, challenges with a new boss at work have kept me awake many nights.
Other bad things that have happened in March: the nuclear accident on Three Mile Island; the Exxon Valdez oil spill off the coast of Alaska; the debut of the first Barbie doll; the Lindbergh baby kidnapping; the British Stamp Act was imposed on the American colonies; Tokyo subways were attacked with sarin gas; the Republican party was founded; Julius Caesar was assassinated.
And now, something in the stars has me in its sights when March rolls around. I’m glad to see this month end. I need a break.