Fuck you, March.

Four long weeks of you playing with my soul, toying with my feelings, emptying my checking account. Four long weeks I’ve slept walked through work, I’ve cried, I’ve consumed massive quantities of wine and vodka, I’ve spent many, many sleepless nights re-re-watching old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. I’ve tried to keep a smile on my face and go with the flow, I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut (poorly) and keep the people around me happy (also poorly). But why bother; this month just keeps sucking more and more.

But! I kept my spirit up with the knowledge that I’d get to see Bloc Party on the 30th with a good group of people and oh how excited I was. Hopefully, optimistically, blindly excited.

Idiot.

The Bloc Party show was canceled.

A word to the wise, March: after you steal someone’ s wallet, you don’t kick her in the face. It’s bad etiquette. Emily Post frowns on such things.

So. Fuck you, March.

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