This is a short essay I wrote for my creative writing class about the month of March. Since it has to be handed in tomorrow, I figured I'd just post it today. It seemed blog-worthy to me.

Ah, March. The greatest tease out of all the months. One moment she promises you sunshine, but delievers only a cold and grey world. March is just a terrible disappointment. For a few days the sunshines, and you dare to hope that spring really is coming and life can begin again. Then the icy winds blow and snow falls--it's like biting into a cookie thinking it will be chocolate chip and discovering that it's oatmeal raisin.

I don't think I'd be able to get through March with my sanity intact if not for the fact that I am a crazy proud Irish girl. St. Patrick's day has always been my favorite holiday, even when I was little. Of course, St. Patrick's Day traditions have changed since I was a kid. I don't make green Jell-o for leprechauns anymore; I go bar hopping. Of course, I don't drink, but I get a lot of sodas and shirley temples wherever we go. It's actually my sincerest wish to celebrate my 21st birthday in Ireland.

Also, I am eagerly awaiting the ides of March, and not to commemorate Caesar's death either. Two years ago I fell in love with a "West Coast Celtic" band, and last September I fell in love with them all over again. This December, I found out that they would be returning in March. It's not every day that I get to be a fanatical groupie, and I intend to be one every second on March 15. I may just die of mad green groupie happiness.

A school-related note as well. The spring play will soon be on stage for all the world to see. I don't honestly thiink that we're going to be able to pull this one together, though. Considering how unorganized and chaotic our rehersals tend to me, most ND shows are nothing short of a miracle. By my count, we've only had three practices for this show so far. Who are we trying to kid anyway? We are so screwed.

Lastly, March will mark one year and three months since getting my learner's permit. If that doesn't sound pathetic, I don't know what does. I'm seventeen, I've had my permit for over a year, I even have a car...and I still can't drive. Getting pulled over my first time on the highway was a bit scarring. I don't care if that was last year, I don't want to try again. The best way to honestly describe my driving skills is something like, "Over hill! Over dale! ...Poor Dale." So here it is, one year and three months and I will once again sit behind the wheel. It's probably in your best interest to stock up on supplies, stay off the streets, and hide in your attic.

Though I am not excited for her lies and disappointments, March is going to be an eventful month for me. Finally out of Feburary's cold grip into spring's slow, reluctant beginnings.

March 1 marks four months, three weeks, and six days left until graduation.