I hate spring.
I hate spring so fucking much.
Especially since i love all the flowers.
I fucking hate spring.
.
It’s the weirdest thing, what happens to people’s faces when you say
“i hate spring”
it’s like you’ve said “I EAT KITTENS ALIVE. WITH HOT SAUCE.”
like how could you hate spring?
Spring?
even the fucking name SPRING
fuck you.
FUCK YOU.
i never knew it was a thing, a valid thing that it wasn’t only me
not until i was thirty.
not until i read
An Unquiet Mind
saw that it was a familiar, if not common symptom of bipolar disorder,
like self-medicating (check!)
poor impulse control (doubling down!!)
hypersexuality (triple-whammy checkaroonie!!!)
All of the manic, growing energy of the Northern Hemisphere
and Mother(fucking) Nature (you malevolent cunt) going balls to the wall
sending roots deep into the earth
budding leaves reaching for the sky
grow grow GROW
the very air hums as if electrified
is electrified
amplifying every atom, every nuance of mood
every paranoid, unworthy thought
it is taking enormous effort
exquisite pain
to bridle this rage, this beast.
you can’t possibly be worthy
you?
no
not you.
Not. You.
i fucking hate spring.
but summer’s worse.
The Salty Widow 