Dear Spring,

The time has come for my annual open letter to you.

You make me sick — Literally. I know that sounds rather harsh right off the bat, but wow, you are relentless. First of all, you took your sweet time to get here. Then, BAM! You freakin' hit us right square between the eyes. Seriously, what is your problem?

I have looked into signs of mental illness and it seems as though you need to get some therapy. You are truly unstable and erratic. It's like you don't know what you want. When you finally spew your allergic venom at those of us who are deeply affected, you seem to sit back and laugh maniacally.

Every year, you seem to affect more and more of my friends. Why don't you pick on someone your own size? I know the answer to that. You could never hold yourself up to Winter's fury, the heat of Summer, or the boys of Fall. Coward.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to find my inhaler, my decongestant and a box of tissues.

Sincerely,

Linda

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