Well, spring is . . . springing(?) in North Georgia. It's getting warm enough for shorts, baseball season is starting, and the dogwoods are blooming, bringing with them the omnipresent scent of human ejaculatory fluid. Seriously, why the hell do these trees smell exactly like cum? Walk outside and you'd think some cosmic giant jacked off into your front lawn. I don't know if you people have these trees where you live, but I hope for your sake that they are restricted to Dixie. The cherries of Washington are a prettier sight for the eyes and far easier on the nose.
Anyway, so begins the suckiest season of the quartet. In Georgia, the weather tends to be quite warm, but sometimes without a whim the sun goes off on a week-long bender and it gets cold again. I think we had snow in April a few years ago. I like defined seasons. I have no problem with the cold if I know it's gonna be cold, but it sucks to walk to class in a T-shirt because it was 85 degrees yesterday and find it's 40 instead. The human animal is one of adaptation and gradual inclination; extreme hot and colds are no fun.
And then you have the sheer wonder of seasonal allergies. Lo! What misery is visited upon the face of Man! In this case, my face . . . and my head, my sinuses, my eyes. And no simple ragweed hayfever this; this is a full onslaught of yellow spoor originating of the sinister Georgia pine! For a mimimum of six whole weeks, the whole expanse of the Earth is covered in this dusty blanket. Death by mustard gas would be preferable.
The remaining three seasons are much better in comparison to the horror that is spring. Summer, autumn, and winter. Everything's roasted, everything's dying, everything's dead.
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