I hate summer. Not for obvious reasons.
God must have a twisted sense of humour, especially when it comes to me. I live my life like an honest person, never making a big deal of things, don’t do silly things like tempting Fate, and yet always, without fail, every summer, things start going downhill for me.
Come May, life simply starts getting a little tougher. Things get a little quarrelsome, it takes a little more effort to get out of bed, it takes a little more strength to smile and be strong for someone else. But doing good never pays off. When June starts creeping in, full-blown chaos. Nothing goes right. People start finding fault with me. Relationships suffer. Money disappears. This usually continues until September, when the shit finally hits the fan.
It’s painful living like this. I want to die.